War Never Changes
by Jentrelavellan
Summary: **Updated every 2 weeks!** Cullen's POV to the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Cullen x Lavellan. (Mage Lavellan!) One-sided Solas romance! Some in-game scenes expanded! Plus lots more to come. NOTE: Skyhold from chapter 10, and less game scenes from chapter 10 too! Reviews are loved, thank you!
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter One**_

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The rift above pulses - another wave of demons are incoming, that is certain.

"Hold the line!" I call over my shoulder, and the troops oblige, keeping a wary eye on the demons spawning. With a hiss and a splutter, a long straggly demon emerges, its screech echoing around us.

"Hold!" I call again, waiting for the demon to come closer, to entice an attack.

An arrow shoots past my ear from behind, striking the demon squarely in one of its eyes. It screams and withers in pain, so I turn to bark a reprimand to the archer who had loosed, but words fail me.

It is her - the survivor of the conclave, standing with the dwarf from Kirkwall, who is loading another arrow bolt into his crossbow. The prisoner has a staff in her hand - when had she been armed? - and has grim determination set on her face as she summons the magic around her, casting a protective barrier around me and my troops; whilst Varric lets loose another bolt - it flies straight past me and hits the creature one more.

My heart pounding and body rushing with adrenaline, I point my sword forward and command an attack on the stumbling creature, as the prisoner jumps down from the ledge, closely followed by Cassandra. My men attack all around me as another wave appears: survival for my men at this moment is my only thought.

It's a swift and clean skirmish: I move quickly and deftly, despite not being in the field for years now. I can sense those fighting around me - Cassandra's shield and sword fighting style similar to my own. We work well as a team with our backs to one other: we shield with one arm and attack with the other, cutting down demon after demon.

"Quickly!" Cassandra calls from behind me and I turn just in time to see the survivor step forward, raise her hand to the rift and, with a surging pulse of electric magic, close the rift. The demons' bodies around us perish, and there is silence for the first time.

I cannot help but stare at the survivor. She is looking down at her hand, curiously turning it over to examine it. I can see the apostate elf, Solas, watch her too. He steps close to the prisoner and says a few low words. I turn to Cassandra, and yet I cannot take my eyes off the elven mage.

"Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift," I say. "Well done".

Cassandra sighs and turns to look at the survivor too. "Do not congratulate me, Commander: this is the prisoner's doing".

I knew that but for the first time, our eyes meet - gold to green. There's a splatter of blood on her cheek, but she looks non-pulsed.

"Is it?" I say, "I hope they're right about you - we've lost a lot of people getting you here," I can't help but cringe at the harshness of my words to her. Yes, they are true, but this is no time for modesty. The diversion by my soldiers to get the survivor closer to the ruins of the conclave is something I can not forgive lightly… even if she does look at me with an unflinching gaze.

"I can't promise anything," she replies, just as curt. "But I will try my best."

I blink at her honest words. "Then that's all we can ask," I say softly. Reluctantly I pull my gaze away, ignoring the abundance of questions bombarding my mind and instead focus on the task at hand. I turn to Cassandra: "the way to the temple should be clear - Lelianna will try to meet you there."

As swift as the solider she is, Cassandra nods, sheathing her sword. "Then we best move quickly - give us time Commander."

Once more, my gaze rests on the prisoner and she is looking at me, her eyes as green as the breach in the sky. They are bright and vibrant, and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as it feels like she is staring straight into my soul. Her head tilts to the side and I feel as if she's trying to figure me out, whilst I stare at her almost dumbfounded. Realising Cassandra is looking at me, I nod.

"Maker watch over you," I say to Cassandra, before looking back at the survivor. "For all our sakes".

Some of my men and women are running past me, falling back to the blockade now that the path is clear. I turn, willing myself not to look back, and help a limping solider. Never one to leave a man behind, I hook the soldier's arm around me, and help him walk to the blockade.

I glance over my shoulder as the strange foursome move out - and yet the survivor is watching me. I turn back to my men, ignoring the feel of her eyes on my back. I call for men to close the gates and seal them behind me once everyone is through - Lelianna's agents would meet the survivor at the conclave. There was nothing left for me to do except see to my troops, call in some healers and pray to the Maker that they all make it back in one piece.

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	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

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"The rift is sealed! The conclave rift is sealed!" A soldier is running, crying the words through the mountains, his face bright with joy, sharing the news with all who he passes. Those who hear him turn to one another and share hugs and words of encouragement. For the first time since the explosion, people are starting to smile.

I'm crouched by an injured soldier when I finally see the runner. I stand abruptly, resting a hand on the hilt of my sword by pure habit.

"Soldier!" I call out. Reluctantly, the young man skids to a halt in front of me and salutes.

"Commander!" He pants, eyes wide, but still smiling.

"Report," I order.

"Yes Ser," the young man replies, composing himself. "It is true - I've come from the Temple myself - the Dalish woman sealed the rift and slew the demon inside - with minimal casualties."

"And where is the prisoner now?"

"She collapsed when the rift was sealed: she used the magic on her hand - I saw it with my own eyes, Ser. It was incredible." He is grinning from ear to ear, wanting to be the hero of the moment, to deliver the news to all. I wait, trying not to fall for the infectious joy of the soldier.

"The others who were there - are they injured?" I finally ask, thinking of Cassandra leading the unusual foursome.

"No Ser. Sister Lelianna and Seeker Pentaghast are well and unscathed, and are personally carrying the stretcher of the Herald, who has not awoken."

"Herald?" I repeat, blinking.

"The Herald of Andraste, Ser - she saved us all by closing the rift, thanks to Andraste's blessing."

"Maker preserve us," I mumble, running a hand through my hair. "Very well, you're dismissed to… spread the news."

The soldier salutes and smiles; running off before I can change my mind.

 _The Herald who has not woken._ I recall the messenger's words and for some reason, a strange sensation washes over me which I assume it's just relief. If she has saved them all, then the small even mage would be a martyr if she dies. I instantly abandon the thought as my stomach twists in an unusual knot. Is it the withdrawal of lyrium or just the anxiety of what's to come? I am unsure but glance up - there is still a hole in the sky but the demons are no longer spawning. At least the worst is over… for now.

* * *

I'm not sure what I'm doing. All I know is that despite overseeing my troops on their new training regime, my mind has been elsewhere. The Herald as slept for the past two days with no signs of waking up, and I can't seem to think about anything else. Since all of my soldiers returned to Haven, the training had intensified along with the stream of new recruits arriving by the hour, desperate to help the only source of power that seemed to be in control - and with Andraste's blessing.

And yet… I watch the new recruits spar with their wooden swords, but I can't help but turn my head to the large gates of Haven. I can't believe I'm even contemplating this, but… it wouldn't hurt, would it? No-one would even know I'm there. And, it would be just for a moment. Well, that's what I'm telling myself as my feet carry me away from my training men and women.

The lieutenant steps out of one of the tents and salutes to me, awaiting orders. "Once they've finished that drill, order them on a march around the frozen lake - there should be no rest."

"Yes Commander," he replies and I take my leave, still not really thinking.

Before I know it, my legs are taking me through the gates of Haven and I'm turning left towards the three cabins. Self-consciously I glance over my shoulder but nobody pays me any mind. I'm here now, staring at the wooden door. It's not too late, I tell myself, but I bristle and scold myself - it won't hurt. I act on impulse and knock gently. Not that I expect a reply, but I did think it best to check in case she had awoken. Although what I would exactly say to her if she answers the door… I try not to think about it.

She doesn't answer, so I slowly push the door open and step inside the warm cabin, careful to quietly shut the door behind me. There's a fire roaring making the whole cabin cosy and comfortable and I glance around the sparsely decorated cabin until my eyes fall on her.

The Herald is asleep and lies on her back, covers pulled up to her chin, her light blonde hair splayed out on the pillow. Her lips are slightly parted, and I can hear her steady breathing, a calm expression on her face. It is here that I notice her small nose and her long eyelashes resting on lightly freckled cheeks. My mind whirls - this is completely improper me being here. What if someone came in? I cannot be caught here, alone, with this defenseless woman.

And yet I linger. I can't help myself. What is wrong with me? I want to push my luck and I look upon her face. Is she truly sent by Andraste herself? This Dalish mage with delicate markings on her cheeks, an envoy of the most Divine? I find myself wanting to touch her thick blonde hair, knowing that it's completely forbidden, but it's not stopping me. My hand inches forwards -

The door to the cabin flies open and I spin on the spot to glare at the intruder, my hand coming to rest on the hilt of my sword. I notice that I'm shaking a little - it must be a side-effect of the withdrawal. Must be.

It is Solas, the apostate elf. He appears not to notice me until he has shut the door to the outside world and silence once again consumes the cabin, except for her soft breaths behind me. After a moment, the elf looks up looking mildly surprised.

"Are you looking for me?" he asks, moving into the cabin and setting his staff aside.

I resist all urge to look back upon the sleeping figure. Of course, he would think the visitor would be for him. "Ah, yes - just wondering if there's any change?" I reply as smoothly as possible.

"Were you?" Solas says softly, not looking at me.

My stomach twists and I tighten my grip around the hilt of my sword, almost to reassure myself. There is something about Solas I just can't figure out, and the more I see him, the more it frustrates me. In fact, it actually bugs me more than I would care to admit.

I take a steadying breath and look down at the Herald, hoping to sound my usual commanding self. "Yes - there's been talk among the soldiers about her condition, and I wanted to discover fact from fiction." I slip easily back into the mask of The Commander.

Solas moves past me and places a hand on the woman's forehead. "No change, Commander. She is alive but sleeping and the mark on her hand is still and silent. I'll let you know if there's any news." He sits down on a stool next to the bed, slowly pulling his hand away, his gaze never leaving the Herald's face.

I know I've been dismissed, but I can't help but notice the way Solas is looking at her. Solas's face is softening, and he almost looks like he has emotions. But it makes me uncomfortable and I'm not too sure why. I back out of the cabin and the apostate doesn't give me a glance or anything to note my leaving.

I stand outside the cabin door for a few minutes, just trying to remember the peaceful details of the cabin, but then I shake my head and stride away - and bump into Cassandra.

"Oh, Commander!" she exclaims, her eyebrows raised. "Did… did you go and see her too? Has she woken?"

I know I cannot lie to the Seeker so I sigh and nod. "She has not woken - Solas watches over her like a hawk though."

Cassandra rolls her eyes. "He has hardly left her side. He wouldn't even let me see her this morning!" The Seeker crosses her arms and looks stubbornly at the closed cabin door behind him. "I just wanted to see her - to look upon her face. Could she really be sent by Andraste?" she is speaking softly now, really to herself.

I know her faith is in jeopardy - Maker knows, as is mine - but the recent events are just so perplexing, that the Inquisition must stand united, even when the Chantry cannot. I say as much to her and she smiles.

"You're right, Commander. Let us pray she wakes soon."

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	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

* * *

We must act quickly. The Herald is awake for just a few hours before the proclamation of the Inquisition's official reformation is confirmed. I don't even see her as she comes up to the Chantry, for she is quickly ushered away for meetings with Cassandra and Lelianna. By the time I enter the war council room, she is gone.

The words on the page were crystal clear - Divine Justinia's last will and testament, written before her death in the eventuality of such. The Inquisition has full authority to act. I run a hand through my hair and sigh, glancing at the other women, who are just as silent and reflective. It's a lot to take in, and yet we all knew that this day could come the moment we each agreed to be part of the Inquisition.

"There's work to be done," Cassandra states, pulling us all out of our thoughts.

The meeting ends so I head straight down to the training camp with Cassandra.

"We've had a number of Templars and Mages join us, since the conclave." I say.

Cassandra falls into step beside me. "That is good news - they can be an example for others to follow."

"They need to set their differences aside first - and it's not easy, I know," I sigh. The training yard comes into view where the recruits are sparring. There is a clear segregation of mages and Templars, plus a mix of recruits.

"So teach them, Commander," Cassandra says simply, shrugging her shoulders. She walks away to speak to the lieutenant, who is training a small group on the straw dummies.

It is easier said than done for me to teach them. I am very different to who I was ten years ago… well even eighteen months ago. It has taken a lot for me to take a step back and understand that my position within the Templars was false from the start. I shake my head - these thoughts cannot enter my mind now. As Cassandra says, I need to teach them to understand what I am still coming to understand.

My gaze around the training site falls on a small clearing down by the frozen lake. There are two mages sparring with wooden sticks to imitate staffs. I'm intrigued, so I pace around the training grounds and edge closer. I know less than I would like to admit about the physical training regimes of mages, and I suppose I should learn their way of training, in anticipation of more to join the Inquisition.

As I get closer I realise it is Solas training with another mage. Staff-like stick in his left hand, his feet apart in a good stance, he is calling to his training partner, demonstrating a feint move. It takes me a moment to realise that I'm watching Solas train the Herald.

She looks like a different person. Her face is flushed with the cold mountain air, and there is a look of deep concentration on her face as she mimics Solas' instructions. They began to spar proper, their sticks twirling with no magic - purely focusing on technique of movement in a fight. The two elves move well together, and I feel a strange pull in my stomach. What is that, fear? I'm not sure, but I can't help but continue to watch them spar and I notice that Solas' eyes never leave the Herald's face. She, on the other hand, is concentrating on her footwork, until she outsteps him, hits him on the shins, and he falls with a thud on the hard ground. Her staff is pointed to Solas' neck, and she smiles triumphantly. I resist the urge to chuckle.

"Best of out three?" she suggests, stepping back, but offering a hand to help him up. The apostate takes her outstretched hand gratefully, and even smiles back at her. They begin the next round, which I planned to stay and watch, until my lieutenant appears at my shoulder.

"Commander," he salutes.

"Report," I say, still watching the mages spar.

"Word from Sister Lelianna, Ser: there's to be an announcement outside the Chantry on the hour. Your presence is requested."

Of course - some display of unity is needed for those who had already gathered, now that the Inquisition was officially reformed. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

The man salutes and steps forward to interrupt the sparring match between Solas and the Herald. I quickly turn away, lest I be caught watching them, and stride with purpose and authority through the gates of Haven, towards the the Chantry.

Lelianna is already waiting and soon Josephine joins us. The two women speak in low voices but brake off when the crowd starts to gather, and the Herald makes an appearance. She hesitantly climbs the Chantry steps and Josephine smiles at her encouragingly. The elf smiles back and glances at each of them in turn, before resting on me. I meet her gaze unwaveringly and try to smile… but fail. I am reluctant to admit that I am still in a little awe of her. Non-pulsed, she stands beside me as we await Cassandra, who is making her way through the crowds of Haven. I know that if I lean a little to the side that our arms will brush - she is standing that close.

Out of the corner of my eye, I'm finally able to get a good - and subtle - look at the Herald. It strikes me that I don't even know her name, except that she is from the Dalish clan, Levellan. The markings under her eyes are faint - _vallasiin_ is it called? - and her blonde hair is pulled to the side, with a small braid tucked behind her ear. I suddenly remember when I had seen it splayed across her pillow as she slept in the cabin, and instantly I feel ashamed at the thought.

I can see that she's looking up, not listening to Cassandra's words to the crowd. She is staring at the breach in the sky, looming over us. A slight frown creases her forehead - everything has changed, I realise. The world would soon be looking to her for her triumph… or failure.

* * *

I stare down at the map, placing a marker in Haven and frown. My forces have been reduced considerably since the conclave and it would take a lot of work to get the newest recruits prepared and ready. Thankfully there had been no small rifts open around Haven since the Herald returned, so we had time to train before the first regiment moved out.

"Reports are coming in of numerous other rifts, smaller than the breach, opening up all over Ferelden," I say, crossing my arms.

"Not just Ferelden," Lelianna quips, pointing to the map. "My agents are noticing rifts across Orlais - as far west as the Hissing Wastes."

"Then all of Thedas is in peril," I state dryly.

We fall into a thoughtful silence, as we each measure up the task at hand. The Inquisition is newly formed and without a leader, except the three of us and Cassandra. Whilst in the initial stages it had worked well, with the new crisis present, it is clear that some sort of authority will be needed - and I'm very reluctant to take up the task. What makes our partnership unique is our diverse skills and opinions, and without mediation, the three of us could easily rip at the seams of control. I was brought in to advise on military issues and command the forces, not lead the whole operation. Plus, the thought of having to negotiate with Orlesian nobles… _ugh_.

The door to the war room opens and Cassandra strides in with the Herald - Lyla. I had carefully sought to discover her name from one of Lelianna's reports. Not that I would call her by her first name in professional instances, yet it gives me some reassurance that I'm not completely ignorant.

"You've met Commander Cullen," Cassandra was saying to Freya. "Leader of the Inquisition's forces."

I think I manage a smile as I look up from the map before me. This is it - time to make the right, professional impression on a woman who is making my stomach flip.

"It was only for a moment on the field," I say. "I'm pleased you survived." She smiles at me politely before being introduced to Josephine and Lelianna.

 _I'm pleased you survived?_ I scold himself at my clumsy words and look back down at the map. Josephine introduces herself in elven and I give her a sidelong glance. What was that mess I had just said to her? Why couldn't I greet her in elven? Thankfully, nobody seemed to have noticed my internal argument, except perhaps, Lelianna, who exchanges a small look with me. That woman knows far too much.

As the war council continued, I fell back into my Commander mask. It is soon decided that Lyla will head to the Hinterlands to seek out Mother Giselle with Cassandra, Varric and Solas. It's agreed that a small team to accompany the Herald will be the best course of action, so minimal attention is drawn to them amidst the conflict currently raging between the mages and Templars.

"My report from Scout Harding says the fighting is throughout the Hinterlands - she will brief you when you reach the outskirts camp," Lelianna says.

"Then we'll leave on the morrow," Lyla replies.

"Very good, Herald," I nod, and the council retires for the day. Cassandra and Lyla leave the war room straight away, but I linger with Lelianna and Josephine.

The Antivian clears her throat. "Are you sure it's wise to send her out into the field? She is our only hope to seal the breach."

"We cannot wrap her up in Orleanian gowns and protect her, Josie," Lelianna replies. "She must be seen as The Herald of Andraste making real change, so that the people rally for her - and us."

I remain silent. I had seen first hand her ease of working in the field up at the conclave, and also my prying on her training with Solas gave me little reason to worry. "It will be good for the deployed troops in the Hinterlands to see her in action too. Word will spread and morale will boost," I conclude.

"Then let us pray to the Maker that she is as competent as you seem to think," Josephine adds in a low tone.

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	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four**_

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As I approach the war room, latest reports in my hand, I can hear rising voices inside. It's not like me to be late to meetings and they wouldn't usually start without me. Pushing the door open, Lelianna and Josephine are deep in conversation with a tall Chantry sister.

"Commander Cullen," Josephine says, spotting me enter. "This is Mother Giselle, who has come to assist us with the relief effort."

I incline my head, mildly surprised. "A pleasure, Mother Giselle. Has the Herald returned from the Hinterlands?"

"Not yet, Commander," she says in a think Orlesian accent. "I came ahead of her party, as she wanted to stay and help the refugees of the war," Mother Giselle explains, spreading her hands.

"I've had a raven from Scout Harding - the Herald will be back by the end of the week, if the weather holds," Lelianna paces restlessly. "Thank you, Mother Giselle. We will call if we need any assistance on Chantry matters," she dismisses.

The older woman bows her head to each of us and takes her leave. Once the door is closed Lelianna crosses her arms. "Arch!" she exclaims.

"Problem?" I enquire, a little perturbed by Lelianna's outburst. She wears a mask just as much as I do: her the Nightingale and me the Commander.

"I'll say," Josephine sighs. "Mother Giselle has spoken to the Herald, and wants us to appeal to the Chantry directly - in Val Royeaux."

"As if they will listen," Lelianna mutters, clicking her tongue and moving a counter on the war table.

"I disagree," Josephine says delicately, making a note on her ledger. "It is the perfect opportunity to show to all of Thedas our intentions are good."

"You can not deny that it sounds like a trap," I put in, crossing my arms.

"True," Josephine concedes. "But perhaps we should wait until the Herald is back and get her opinion."

* * *

The Herald returns over a week later on a new steed. She rides side-by-side with Cassandra and I happen to be close to the stables when they return. I'm struck by the sense that something has changed - Cassandra seems almost relaxed and they are smiling at one another. A few strands of Lyla's tidy hair have come loose and she subconsciously brushes them away, whilst still chatting to Cassandra.

Then Cassandra laughs. _Laughs_! I'm not the only one to stare - many of the training soldiers pause to see them arrive and now watch as they clearly enjoyed each others company. Solas comes trotting up next and dismounts smoothly, nodding curtly to the women who incline their heads politely in response. The apostate elf stalks off into Haven without a backward glance and Cassandra nudges Lyla in the ribs. Lyla looks down, her face reddening, before they both laugh aloud again.

Varric arrives bringing up the rear, his crossbow slung over his shoulders. He glances at Lyla and Cassandra laughing and rolls his eyes, but still smiles. It's like an annoying itch - I need to know what's changed in this party. I walk over to the stables on the pretense of taking to Varric.

"Successful trip?" I ask as casually as I can.

"It's all business with you, isn't it Curly?" Varric glances up at me. "I need a drink before I do anything else." He pushes past me and trudges up to Haven.

"Commander!" Cassandra calls. I can't help but gulp as I reluctantly step towards her and Lyla.

"Lady Cassandra, Herald," I say politely.

"Commander," Lyla replies cooly, her smile fading. I try not to take it personally, but I have to remember that formality is everything around troops. I turn to Cassandra.

"Mother Giselle arrived over a week ago - good job securing the Hinterlands."

"We couldn't have done it without Lyla," Cassandra smiles, looking at the elf. "But I'll fill you in on the details at the war council."

"I suppose we had better call one right away," Lyla says, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

I pause, contemplating. There was nothing too pressing and he wasn't the only one who would rather have an early morning council, rather than a late night one. "Actually, no - Josephine is locked in a meeting with some Orlesian nobles and Lelianna is scouting the surrounding hills - the war council will have to wait until tomorrow."

Lyla beams and stretches her arms above her head. "That means I can actually have a bath! I'll see you later." She runs straight past me and back up to Haven and I watch her leave.

Cassandra chuckles, reminding me that she's there. "I think I will do the same. We'll meet tomorrow, Commander," the Seeker says, before running to catch up with the Herald. I turn back to my training troops. So many questions about their excursion, and yet I would have to wait. _It's all business with you, isn't it Curly?_ Varric's voice rings in my ears: I rub his neck subconsciously, scolding myself. I don't mean to be 'all business'… I would have to explain that to Lyla one day.

A few hours later, as the afternoon draws to a close, I'm looking over a report handed to me by a scout. They had come in thick and fast following the Herald's arrival back in Haven with numerous updates from the Hinterlands and the surrounding areas. In between reports, I watch and command the newest recruits - whose experience of sword and shield are something to be desired.

"You there," I call, pointing to a young recruit, no older than seventeen. "There's a shield in your hand - block with it! If this man were your enemy, you'd be dead." I try to keep the disdain out of my voice, turning to the man next to me. "Lieutenant, don't hold back - the recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one."

"Yes Commander," the ex-Templar salutes and goes to chastise another recruit down the line.

I linger a moment longer when the hairs on the back of my neck tingle and stand on end. Soft footsteps in the crunchy snow approach from behind me. Crossing my arms I glance out of the corner of my eye to see Lyla approach warily. For a moment I start to panic - what on earth would she want to see me for? Then I stupidly remember that I'm the _bloody Commander of the Inquisition's forces_ and she probably just wants to know how they are getting on, just like Lelianna sometimes asks.

I stick to my commander facade when she stops next to me. "We've received a number recruits," I begin, stealing a glance at her. "Locals from Haven and some pilgrims… none made quite the entrance you did," I say, and I can almost feel myself smiling. It wouldn't hurt to get on her good side, and, if I think about it, that good side was something I actually really want to be on.

"I just hope I can help," she replies simply, with a careless shrug of her shoulders.

"As do we all," I sigh. "It is enough that you would try." I hope my words are reassuring, but she frowns. I think I need to distract her from the task at hand. Fumbling around for a conversation starter I think that maybe she wants to know a little about me, the Commander? So I step forward, hoping she will follow.

"I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall myself: I was there during the mage uprising and saw firsthand the devastation it caused-"

"Sir-" a messenger was behind me with a new report.

"-Cassandra sought a solution," I continue, taking the report and walking still, not really absorbing the words. "When she offered me a position I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse…" my voice trails off as I really scrutinise the report before me to distract myself from her curious gaze.

"I must have this mark for a reason," Lyla says. "I'm sure of it."

I look up at her frankly. "Provided we can secure aid, I'm confident we can." I hand the report back to the messenger who scurries away. Now it just the two of us - for the first time since she slept… not that she knew that.

I clear my throat. "The Chantry lost control of both Templars and mages; now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that," I say leaning forward, desperate for her to see my determination. "There's so much we can…" I stop in my tracks, my face warming. "Forgive me, I doubt you came here for a lecture."

There's a pause and I look up to see her smiling. "No, but if you have one prepared I'd love to hear it," she smirks.

I chuckle at her completely unexpected answer. It is the first time I have even thought of laughing in months, and yet she had let it happen to me quite naturally. "Another time perhaps." My eyes slide back to her and she is smiling at me, and Maker, is it a smile! It reaches her eyes - they are so green, I can feel myself wanting to fall into them. what is wrong with me? I think the withdrawal symptoms are starting to take their toll. I falter, feeling that knot twist inside my stomach again. I clear my throat and reluctantly look away. "Ah, there's still a lot of work ahead," I say weakly, and, as if on cue, another messenger approaches us.

"Commander," he says. "Ser Ryder has a report on our supply lines."

I give one last look at Lyla, who offeres me a sympathetic smile in response. "Hm, as I was saying…" I walk away but can once again feel her eyes on my back. I'm not sure what to think except that the report I'm holding makes even less sense than the one before. I glance up to see her walk slowly back towards the gates of Haven. I think I'm smiling… had she some down just to talk to me? No, surely not. I banish the thought. Well, I try to, at least.

* * *

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	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

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As is my new habit, I stare down at the map on the war table, frowning as the discussion continues. This meeting had dragged on all day and is showing no signs of letting up. We were going in circles - mages, Templars, the Chantry - who to support? Tempers around the table are starting to frazzle, but a decision needs to be made - the future of the Inquisition depends on it.

"…Having the Herald address the clerics is not a terrible idea," Josephine is saying.

I turn to her. "You can't be serious!"

"Mother Giselle isn't wrong: at the moment the Chantry's only strength is they're united in opinion."

I sigh with exasperation and scratch my head.

"And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?" Lelianna queries, echoing my own thoughts. I can't help but flick the spymaster an appreciative glance.

"I'm more concerned this won't actually solve any problems," Lyla states matter-of-factly.

"I agree," I say quickly, and our eyes lock over the war table. I keep telling myself to keep the distance, to not get pulled in but I find I cannot help it. She is innocently alluring and I have this strange feeling I need to win her approval, and I'm not sure why. But jumping to agree with her at every opportune moment at the war table is not a good way to distance myself. I turn to Josephine. "It just lends credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says."

Cassandra steps forward, speaking for the first time after a long while. "I will go with her."

And with that it's decided. Cassandra dismisses us all, and Lyla slumps her shoulders. The capital of Orlais is a good week-ride away, and they will leave as soon as the horses are mounted. They all went their separate ways but I find myself hesitating to catch a word with Lyla.

"Be wary in the capital, Herald," I say, harsher than I would've liked.

"Oh, I'm always wary," she replies. "Don't start a riot in my absence with Rodrick, Commander," she smiles briefly before walking off, her head bowed.

I watch her leave. Maker help me - what can't I talk to her the way Cassandra and the others do?

* * *

The weeks pass slowly in her absence. I come to realise that I ought to get used to her not being around, but that doesn't seem to make it any easier. As I trained the recruits, I found that I was always hoping she would appear over the horizon or come and spar with Solas again. I keep thinking that maybe, this time, I would approach and comment on her impressive skills. I would compliment her, if I can get the words out right… could I get the words out? It has been so long since a woman has made me feel so… flustered. I work well with women, having done so all my life, not to mention putting up with my sister Mia's constant teasing. But there is something about Lyla that makes me hesitate. I'm coming to realise that I want to see her smile more than anything else - just like the way she smiled when she had sought me out in the training yard (because she really had just come down to speak to me, I'm now sure of it). It's ridiculous that I'm thinking about this: I have only known her for a few weeks and spoken to her even less. Most of the time we speak is around the war table.

A rider dashes into the training camp and dismounts but the gates. The rider spots me and strides over, a roll of parchment in her hand.

"Commander," she says, saluting. "Word from Val Royeaux."

I'm so eager to hear any news that I snatch the parchment from her hand and unroll the letter to discover a report from the woman I have constantly been thinking about. I'm not sure what I'm expecting but I can't help feel slightly deflated when I see that it's addressed to not just me, but Lelianna and Josephine too. It reads:

 _Advisors,  
_ _We return from Val Royeaux after just two nights. Templars broken from Chantry. Lord Seeker Lucius will not speak to the Inquisition. Grand Enchanter Fiona met us secretly in capital with a proposition. New agents acquired. Nightingale: investigate 'Red Jenny'. Madame Du Fer has joined the Inquisition._

 _Will share full report upon our return._

 _Signed,  
_ _The Herald of Andraste Lady Lyla Levellan of the Inquisition._

* * *

I found myself eagerly awaiting their return, which came just a few days later. Cassandra and Lyla met Lelianna, Josephine and myself in the Chantry as soon as they returned.

"You heard?" Cassandra says as the head towards the war council room.

"My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course," Lelianna says from beside me.

I cross my arms, finally voicing my disappointment. "It's a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital."

"Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember," Cassandra admits.

Their pace slows towards the war room. "My reports have been… very odd," Lelianna says slowly.

"We must look into it: I'm certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker," I say confidently, trying to avoid the whole circle of Templars, mages and Chantry that had taken up our time before their departure to Val Royeaux.

It is no use though. As always, Josephine speaks the opposite of my thoughts. "Or, the Herald could simply go to speak to the mages in Redcliffe instead…"

I turn to the Antivian. "You think the mage rebellion is more united?" I demand of her. "It could be ten times worse!" My hand is shaking, so I grip the hilt of my sword.

And once again, we spiral into the debate of who to support into the early hours of the morning around the war table. At least now the Chantry were ruled out completely, but that still did not help. I feel outnumbered all evening - Lyla is a mage herself - of course she backs the mages. But she hadn't been a Circle mage and probably knew very little about Templars and how they help.

It was inevitable, and I suppose I relented in the end, seeing their reason. There is a Tevinter Magister in Redcliffe, and Templars or mages, it cannot stand and was surely no coincidence. It's the tipping point, I know, to the future of the Inquisition, and I'm just as tired of the endless arguing as the rest of them. It had been Lyla who had been the one to put her foot down and make the decision. With her gravitas as a mage herself and exposing her concerns of the Templars, they had all turned to listen, and eventually agree upon approaching the mages. With Grand Enchanter Fiona's approach in Val Royaux, it did seem that they were, after all, more inclined to help, I conclude reluctantly.

* * *

"…We don't have the manpower to take the castle," I say honestly to the war council. "Either we find another way in or give up this nonsense and go and get the Templars."

It had been another long morning and afternoon of debates. I have been in two minds about the meetings. On one hand, it was the most time I have ever been in Lyla's company, and I realised that I'm truly relishing every moment she listens to me talk. I find myself having on her every word, what with her compassion and determination. And yet on the other hand, I have never disagreed with her more than I do presently. It was going to be impossible to side with the mages now: surely the only way forward was to speak to the Templars, now that they had enough influence.

Cassandra glares at me: she has clearly taken Lyla's side again. Those two are now rather inseparable from their missions together and it was clear they are becoming fast friends.

"The mages are in the hands of a Magister," she says bluntly. "This _cannot_ be allowed to stand."

"Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defendable fortresses in Ferelden," I retort, looking at each of them in turn. "It has repelled thousands of assaults." My anger is bubbling and I am tired, my head throbbing. I grip the hilt of my sword and turn to Lyla: "if you go in there, you'll _die_ , and we'll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts." I try to soften my voice when I say "I won't allow it…"

"The Magister-" Cassandra begins.

"Has outplayed us," I interrupt, crossing my arms, hoping no-one notices the shake of my hands.

"We can't just give up," Lyla says stubbornly. It's a trait I fear I'm coming to love and hate. "There has to be something we can do." We all remain silent, so with more conviction, she continues. "Other than the main gate, there has to be another way into the castle: a sewer? A water course? Something…?"

"There's nothing I know of that would work," I counter, reluctant to crush her resolve. Her passion to do the right thing is endearing, even though I completely disagree.

"Wait," Lelianna begins, her eyes widening. "There is a secret passage into the castle - an escape route for the family." I tried not to think about how the spymaster knows of such an exclusive piece of information. "It's too narrow for our troops but we could send agents through."

"It's too risky: those agents will be discovered well before they reach the Magister," I argue.

A faint smile pulls at Lelianna's lips. "That's why we need a distraction," she licks her lips. "Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants to badly…?"

It suddenly clicks. Yes it is a good plan. "Focus the attention on him while we take out the Tevinters… it's risky but it could work…" I turn back to Lyla. "This plan puts you in the most danger. We can't in good conscience order you to do this… we could still go after the Templars if you'd rather not play the bait - it's up to you," I say, trying to soften my words as much as possible in a last ditch attempt to enlist the help of the Templars.

Lyla shakes her head. "I think I make pretty good bait," she quips, trying to make light of the situation. For that, I think I admire her more, but I feel nauseous as the council adjourns and planning begins for the trip to Redcliffe.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for your reading and for your reviews...!**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

* * *

As I do when I've a spare evening free, I sit in a corner in the tavern in my plain clothes with a quill and roll of parchment. It's times like these that are few and far between, but tonight I know I need a little solitude as an anonymous writer, sat in the corner of a crowded tavern. Nobody pays me any mind and I'm safe to think I'm not recognised with a hood over my head, my armour discarded.

Finally, after sipping my ale, I start a letter to my sister Mia. Not that she will even read it. Like all of the letters I've written Mia over the last few years, they usually end up in the fire to be burnt. I suppose it's some sort of therapy to write down my thoughts with purpose, but even so, I would never dream of sending them. They are all far too personal, and she would no doubt tease me for more if I even sent one of the shorter ones.

I glance around, ensuring nobody is paying me any mind and begin:

 _Dear Mia,  
_ _It can get cold here in the mountains around Haven, but I'm keeping warm so you don't need to worry yourself. I hope you're doing well and staying away from all the trouble._

 _I'm writing to you because, well, I'm distracted. I feel that without my lyrium, I'm somehow giving less to the Inquisition. I do not let it show and I do not complain aloud, but some days it is so hard. Is that why I feel these emotions inside of me, like when I was a new recruit?_

 _Do you remember that mage I had a small infatuation with, back at the Circle? I'm worried it's like that all over again. She's a mage, and whilst I'm not as biased as I once was, I am reluctant and wary. She is … incredible. I am drawn to her, although I pray to the Maker that she does not know it. And yet I am always seeking her approval. It's ridiculous really, as now is not the time._

 _But then I think about what you would say. When is ever the right time? I've let duty get in the way of everything my whole life before, could I let this…? No, it's not worth it._

 _All I'm trying to say Mia, is that there is a woman who is innocently testing my resolve. And I think it's going to get worse before it gets any better-_

"Curly! Fancy seeing you here!" I almost jump out of my skin as Varric slaps me on the back.

I gape like a fish out of water. I'm searching for words whilst trying to slip the letter I'm never sending up my sleeve. Of all the nights, she is here, in the same tavern with Varric. She is coming over and - oh Maker - she sits opposite, whilst Varric pulls up a chair next to me.

"Didn't think we would recognise you, huh?" Varric continues. I am silent, and I know I am staring at Lyla, whose eyes are sparkling with amusement. "You see Lyla? I told you it was him. I remember back in Kirkwall when I used to see him with curly hair!" He leans back and laughs, and I pull my hood up tighter over my head. So that's how he knew - Varric is one of the few people that has seen me before I became Commander. Curse him.

"Not one more word, dwarf," I growl.

He only laughs harder, and I can feel my face warm as Lyla chuckles too. "I'll get a round to make up for it, okay?" Varric says and heads to the bar before I can object.

So, once again it's just us. Her and me. Me and her. And silence, except for the bard singing by the bar and the drunken crowds surrounding us.

I rub my neck, groping around for what to discuss when she says, "what were you writing?"

I look at her, and I feel like I've stepped through the frozen lake. Oh Maker, please tell me she didn't read any of it. _Maker_ …

"You didn't see it, did you?" I say quickly. I instantly regret my words as her face falls and a small frown creases her forehead.

"No I… I was just curious, is all," she says, looking away.

It's uncomfortable, so I venture to be honest. "Forgive me, I was just startled. Varric is not exactly, uh, subtle."

"It's okay, I can leave if you like-?"

"No, no, please stay, it's fine," I say hurriedly, and I'm rewarded with a small, shy smile. "I was just writing a letter to a, er, friend," I supply. Why couldn't I say sister? Nobody knows I have family, so the lie comes naturally.

"A friend?" she repeats, puzzled.

"Yes, just someone… a friend I know…"

"Oh… a special someone?"

"Yes - I mean no, not like that."

"So someone special, but not that special?"

"Maker's breath," I mumble but she is smiling and I can't help but smile back. "I'm sorry, I was writing to my sister."

"There, was that so hard?" she says softly and holds my gaze. I can't help but wonder if she has any idea the hold she currently has over me?

"How did you… how did you know-"

"You were making things up?" she finishes and I nod. "You look upwards just before you lie."

I am stunned. I didn't even know that about myself. Am I really that obvious? She really does have a hold over me. Andraste preserve me. The bard is singing louder, and I'm struck by the lyrics…

" _Enchanter, Come To Me  
_ _Enchanter, Come To See  
_ _Can-a you, can-a you come to see,  
_ _  
As you once were blind  
_ _In the light now you can sing?  
_ _In our strength we can rely,  
_ _And history will not repea_ t."

Thankfully I see Varric return from the bar with three tankards of ale in his arms, weaving his way through the busy tavern. But my eyes slide to meet with Lyla who, this time, is the one to blush and look away. Wait, did she blush? I'm staring, I know I am, but underneath her vallasin, her cheeks really do look redder. _Maker_ …

"So!" Varric says dramatically, as he falls into his seat next to me. "What brings the Commander of the Inquisition to the tavern without his armour?"

"Believe it or not, I was after a little solitude," I say, accepting a tankard.

"Solitude? You know this is a tavern, right?" Varric snorts. "A public place? Lots of people..."

"Yes, a tavern where I'm not recognised. Hence the cloak."

"Heh, it's gonna take more than that to stop people recognising you, Curly."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Please don't call me that."

"What, 'Curly'? How about 'Commander Curly'?"

"Commander is fine, thank you." I take a large gulp of ale. I am torn - I want to be in her company, and be worthy of it, but Varric's torture is tiresome and I think of my warm bed underneath the Chantry, calling to me.

"I wish people wouldn't call me 'Herald'," Lyla says unexpectedly. Both Varric and I look at her.

"But that's what you are to people. Just as I am 'Commander', and Josephine 'Ambassador'."

Lyla takes a sip of ale, before placing the tankard carefully on the table. "But my name is Lyla. Just as your name is Cullen," she says softly. I feel a thrill down my spine. She said my name, and I find I'm entranced by the way it rolls off her tongue. Something about her saying my name shakes me awake, and her too, as she stands abruptly.

"I should go. I'm leaving for Redcliffe tomorrow."

She is gone by the time I say goodnight. Varric is looking at me. "What?" I demand.

The dwarf smiles into his tankard. "Oh, nothing. Just had a great story idea pop into my head."

* * *

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	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Seven**_

* * *

At the crack of dawn I am at the training yard, attempting to nurse the headache caused by either the lyrium withdrawal, the ale from last night or an unpleasant mix of both. Not that I drunk myself into a stupor but I know that after Lyla had left, Varric and I had finished her almost untouched drink. Not just that but he had somehow managed to get it out of me that I was feeling something for the Herald of Andraste. The bloody Herald of Andraste. _Her_. Lyla.

I can't believe Varric, like the rogue he truly is, managed to snatch the scrawling letter from my sleeve and get the gist of it before I ripped it off him and threw it in the open fire. Oh, how I had wanted to strangle him, even as he just laughed before giving me some not-so-subtle talk about the birds and the bees.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, just grateful that Lyla was clueless. It is better that she leaves for Redcliffe in complete ignorance, and this time Varric is not heading with her. I thank the Maker for that small blessing.

I'm with a small group of recruits who are eager enough to be up so early to train with me. It's a group of ex-Templars, so we share stories as we train, which I surprisingly enjoy. As I set them up for a lunging exercise, I can't believe it when I see Lyla striding across the fresh snow towards me.

She is dressed in her travel gear, her nose red in the cold of the early morning. She has her arms crossed, but there is no doubt that she's coming to see me. Maker, did Varric tell her? I thought he was still asleep.

"Hey," she says, stopping before me and rubbing her hands together.

"Morning," I say awkwardly, hoping she can't use a mage trick and read minds. Oh Maker, what if she can? Andraste preserve me…

"Look," she says after a moment of us watching the recruits train. "I want things to be alright between us."

So she does know. Shit, _shit!_

"… what with me being a mage and you a Templar," she finishes, and I realise I haven't actually been listening to her, except that last part which pulls me out of my panic.

"Oh," I say. So that's it! She thinks it's… oh Andraste… how I manage not to smile I do not know. I reach for my Commander mask, careful not to hide too much behind it.

"I - thank you, Herald," I agree, stumbling over my words, again. "Although I'm not a Templar anymore."

She nods. "I have so little knowledge of Templars, coming from a clan where I was told to avoid them at all costs… so what I'm asking is... I would like to know more about the Templars."

Her question makes me pause for thought. She is setting off for Redcliffe shortly to abandon all hope for the Templars and yet this is something I know about. As she said, she wants to ensure things are 'alright' between us. But what is 'us'? I ignore that question in my mind.

"If you need insight into what the Order is doing now, I'm afraid I can't offer more than you already know," I shrug apologetically. "But if there's anything else, I can answer the best I can." I hope she stays, I really hope it's not just my old Templar life she's interested in.

"Alright. Why did you become a Templar?"

I rub the back of my neck. Well, at least she didn't beat around the bush. I do remember that sometimes elves can be blunter than humans when it comes to speech, and yet Solas is the most evasive elf I've ever met. I'm not too shocked by her query and inside my stomach is doing a summersault. She actually wants to _know_ about me, and why I joined. I answer honestly.

"I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need. I used to beg the Templars at the local Chantry to teach me. At first they merely humoured me but I must've shown promise … or at least a willingness to learn. The Knight-Captain spoke to my parents on my behalf and they agreed to send me for training: I was thirteen when I left home." I look away, thinking of the time when I tried to impress the older Templars with my shoddy sword skills.

"Thirteen - that's still so young," Lyla says softly, looking across the lake.

"I wasn't the youngest there," I continue. "Some children are promised to the Order at infancy. But still, I didn't take full responsibilities until I was eighteen. The Order sees you trained and educated first."

She hesitates and I look at her before she speaks. "What about your family? Did you miss them?"

Nobody has ever asked me that before. I reply honestly, hoping she can start to trust me behind my Commander or Templar facade. I rarely let it slip for anyone… "Of course," I say. "But there were many my age who felt the same. We learned to look out for one another."

She looks away and chews her bottom lip, a little trait I find strangely endearing. Finally she looks up at me again.

"But what do you really think of mages: are we all a threat?"

I see that she's testing the waters for me: how far can she push me and my abandoned duty of being a Templar? This time last year I would've said something different, I know that.

"I've seen the suffering magic can inflict. I've treated mages with distrust because of it - at times without cause… but that was unworthy of me. I will try not to do so here." _With you_ , I add silently as she looks down, almost guilty. "Not that I want mages moving through our base completely unchecked," I say quickly. "We do need safeguards in place to protect people - including mages - from possession at the least."

She doesn't say anything and I think I've ruined it. Perhaps I'm being too honest, too open with her. It's probably the most I've said to anyone in a very long time. I am now confident Lyla knows more about me than Lelianna, and the thought doesn't scare me as much as it should.

Her mind is obviously chewing over what we've spoken about, so I order a command to the training recruits to start work on their blocking techniques. We stand and watch and I try to think of something to say to her but to no avail. Finally, I continue what it was like as a templar.

"The training was interesting, to become a Templar," I begin, and she turns to listen. "I wanted to learn everything. If I was going to give my life to this, I would be the best Templar I could."

"You were a model student!" she smiles, almost laughing.

I chuckle. "I wanted to be but I wasn't always successful. Watching a candle burn down while reciting the Chant of Transfigurations wasn't the most exciting task. I admit, my mind sometimes wandered."

"Do Templars take vows?" she asks. "You know like - 'I swear to the Maker to watch all the mages' - that sort of thing?"

I rub the back of my neck. "Well there's a vigil first. You're meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change. When it's over you give yourself to a life of service. That's when you're given a philter - your first draught of lyrium - and its power." I shake my head. "As Templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgment. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen."

We fall into a companionable silence as the troops continue to work. I know I should excuse myself from Lyla and take a more active role in the training, but I cannot bring myself to walk away. She is setting off for Redcliffe once the others have arisen, which I imagine can't be long.

She is the first to break my trail of thought. "A life of service and sacrifice," she muses. And then I see a small smile tug at the corners of her lips. "Are Templars also expected to give up… physical temptations?"

Maker's breath. Did she truly just ask me that? "Physical? Why…" I clear my throat, trying to find the right words, but my mind is blank. "Why would you…" I think back to the Templar's commitment I had just confided in her, and try to not take it personally. Of course, many would be interested if it meant commitment to, well everything else. She just wants to know out of curiosity. Yes, just curious. "That's not expected," I eventually say. "Templars _can_ marry - although there are rules around it and the Order must grant permission… some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion, but it's, uh, not required."

She doesn't even blink. "Have you?"

My mouth is dry. "Me? I… uh…" Oh Maker, what am I doing? I speak, yet the words feel strange and ill-formed in my mouth. Why can't I talk to her as easy as anyone else? "… No, I have taken no such vows." She is looking at me and I am looking at her and there is this strange _space_ between us, I can't begin to describe. I rub the back of my neck again. "Maker's breath, can we speak of something else?" I manage to say.

Lyla finally looks away and I stare down at the ground, praying that my emotions aren't all over my face. I am shaken, hopefully not visibly.

"I should go," Lyla says, looking over to the stables where Cassandra, Dorian and Sera are waiting with their mounts. How long have they been waiting, I wonder? Did they just see me stumble like a fool in front of the Herald of Andraste?

"Of course - safe trip, Herald," I say automatically, before I chastise myself, remembering her words from the night before in the tavern. "I mean, Lyla. Safe trip Lyla."

She looks at me over her shoulder, a small smile on her face. I can't help but think that my embarrassment and shame is almost - _almost_ \- worth it, just to see that smile.

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading! Reviews loved!_**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter Eight**_

* * *

"It is not a matter for debate. There will be abominations among the mages and we must be prepared," I say to Lelianna and Josephine.

"If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best - tyrannical at worst," Josephine complains, all politeness gone as she stands there, once again opposing me.

And then Lyla emerges from the Chantry and I'm seething. I trust this woman and yet I am shaking. In all of my years as a Templar, there was still use behind it all, to protect innocents against demon possession, as mages are so vulnerable to fall for. And yet it feels as if my concerns - well-founded concerns - are falling on deaf ears.

"What were you thinking letting mages loose with no oversight?" I demand of her. "The veil is torn open!"

"We're not monsters! We can control ourselves without any outside help," she retorts, her arms crossed.

"This is not an issue of self-control," I state. "Even the strongest mages can be overcome by demons in conditions like these-" I'm implying that it could even happen to her, too, if she's not careful. I can't bear to think of her being possessed by a demon, but it's such a real threat that I have to consider it.

Cassandra interrupts us. "Enough arguing! None of us where there. We cannot afford to second guess our people," she says, looking between us.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, exasperated, whilst Lyle continues to glare at me. Well, that smile she gave me before she left wasn't going to reappear anytime soon.

"The sole point of the Herald's mission was to gain the mages' aid and that was accomplished."

Lelianna looks thoughtful. "We should look into the things you saw in this dark future… the assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?"

"One battle at a time," I say. Lyla's report on the events at Redcliffe had not been light reading, but we could not stumble and flee with the fear of possibilities. I sigh, "It's going to take time to organise our troops and the mage recruits. Let's take this to the war room."

The others nod, but Lyla looks away. "Join us," I say, trying a smile. "None of this means anything without your mark after all."

"Thank you; I would be honoured to help with the plan," she says curtly, and Josephine beams at her polite response, even though we were at each other's throats only moments before.

"I'll begin preparations to march on the summit… Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory," I say, as we adjourn to the war room.

* * *

As the plans to march up to the conclave intensify, I find myself restricted to time away from my duties. I even have a tent made up off the training yard so I can be on call almost all of the time. It reminds me of when I was an initial recruit, sleeping on the hard ground in a campsite, yet my tent is very much my own, and I don't have to share. It's something that, now that I'm a Commander, I actually do enjoy the odd little privilege, here and there.

I wake at the crack of dawn, which is my preferred time of day before most of the recruits are up and about. In fact, it's usually when hardly anyone is around, except perhaps the blacksmith and sometimes Lelianna. I've had a niggling plan in my mind all night - no thanks to my lack of sleep - so I think I'll head up to the war room nice and early, to read any reports that may have come in the night.

The sun is just peering over the mountains as my boots crunch through the fresh flurry of snow on the ground in Haven. My eyes flicker to the silent cabin belonging to Lyla as I pass, and I still can't believe what I did when she had first arrived. I thank the Maker that Solas chooses to remain silent on the topic - what would she do if she found out I had been alone with her as she lay defenceless? Probably hate Templars even more, I think sourly. There had always been rumours that the Templars in the circle would watch the mages as they slept, but that was just idle gossip to fan the flames of distrust.

I pass by the tavern when the door swings open and there is laughter. Stopping in my tracks I stare as the Tevinter mage Dorian stumbles out with his arm around Lyla's shoulders.

"Ah! Well look who it is, Lyla! It's your handsome Commander!"

I am frozen on the spot staring at them both. I'm not sure what's stirring in my stomach - jealousy? Seeing the way his arm is so casually draped around her shoulders makes me clench my jaw.

"Dorian, _please_ \- let's get you to bed," she says, her cheeks pink, her smile lazy. Her words are a little slurred, but not as much as Dorian.

"I should go…" I begin, my jaw so tight at the thought of them going to bed-

Lyla steps forward and I am shocked - and thrilled - when she places a finger on my lips to silence me. It's so sudden, so forward and out of character, that I can feel my eyebrows rising in shock.

"Shh, you work too much Cullen," she says and smiles with a glint in her eye. Dorian sways next to her and chuckles quietly. A moment later, she snaps her finger away as if she's just realised what she's done and Dorian hoots with laughter, making a flock of birds vacate a tree behind them.

"Lyla, I'm sorry to interrupt but I think I'm going to be sick." Dorian states, matter of factly and she nods, helping him back to his cabin. I can't help but stare after them, relishing her touch - her incredibly intimate touch - wondering what it means.

Needless to say I am distracted as I enter the vacant war table; my plan which had kept me up at night has all but evaporated following the encounter with Lyla and Dorian. I realise that I know so little of Lyla personally, that maybe she is just over friendly with the people she is actually more than just an acquaintance with. I wonder if I'm now not just an acquaintance, but a friend? To be part of her inner circle would be a delight, but I cannot get carried away. It's clear that her and Dorian are hitting it off… I think I've missed my chance, if there ever was one.

Lelianna is the next to join me in the war room, around an hour later, when I think I've controlled my thoughts and focused back on the task at hand. I am wrong when she casually says, "have you seen the Herald this morning, Commander?"

I can't help but glare. Of course, her little birds are everywhere, always watching. I suppress a shiver at her probing and try not to remember the feel of Lyla's slender finger on my mouth.

"I think you already know the answer to that question," I say gruffly.

She chuckles quietly. "Now, now Commander," she teases. I think she's going to continue, but my glare silences her. Eventually she says, "what do you think of the Tevinter mage, Dorian?"

She's trying to probe, I know it. "You want me to check on every mage that comes into Haven? I'll be quite over worked if that's the case."

"I meant as a person, not from an Ex-Templar perspective," she soothes.

I sigh. "He is an… interesting addition to the Herald's inner circle," I admit. "I am not quick to trust him - he is a mage and from Tevinter. It's the two things I was told to distrust as a Templar."

"There is something I cannot place about him," Lelianna admits. "He has come into the fold too quickly for my liking."

"But we weren't there in Redcliffe," I say softly. "We do not really know what happened in this 'bad future' mentioned in the reports."

We fall into a thoughtful silence, as my skin crawls at the thought. Mages messing with time is power none should have, and yet they had stumbled into it, seen what would happen if their cause failed and more. Finally I say, "If the Herald trusts him, then so must we."

Lelianna nods thoughtfully and I look up when Josephine enters with Lyla, who looks a little worse for wear.

"Long night?" Lelianna quips playfully.

Lyla rubs her forehead. "Remind me never to stay up drinking with Dorian again. I really can't keep up," she says. Her voice is husky, making me shift awkwardly on my feet, trying to deny how attractive it sounds. _Andraste preserve me…_

The whole meeting, we refuse to meet each other's gaze. I can only look at her when she's either staring down at the map or discussing things with either women beside me. Even when I address her, she appears to look over my shoulder, focusing on something else, or she's looking back at a report in her hand. I am aware of Lelianna noting every stolen glance between us, and it becomes so suffocating, that I can't wait to be out of the war room.

By noon, the latest business has been concluded, so we break for the day to see to our other duties. I am back in the training yard, doing my usual pace around the new recruits when I see Lyla approaching slowly. We greet each other politely and fall into a strange silence. She stands next to me for some time as I watch the recruits.

Finally she says: "Cullen… look, about this morning…"

"It's fine, don't worry about it," I say quickly.

"No, I ought to apologise. I completely made a fool of myself, and I know that as someone on the council, that I should perhaps… act with more dignity."

I open my mouth to say something then snap it shut. What in the world could she want me to say in reply?

"I was hoping that coming out of the tavern at the hour we did, that we would avoid anyone," she continues, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes distractedly. "So much for us starting over," she finishes, and turns to leave.

I don't want her to go - I want her to look at me. I want her to see that I really couldn't care less what anyone else thought. "I thought it was amusing," I smile. She turns, and to my delight, her face is flushing. "Just don't tell Varric, or he will never let you forget it."

She bites her lip - curse that delightful habit of hers! This is like my infatuation with Surana, only much, much worse. I thought it was the foolishness of youth, but clearly not. I rub the back of my neck and turn my attention to the training recruits once more, but she remains next to me. As much as I hate to admit it, I like her there at my side and pray she won't leave.

"I should get to know you better," she eventually says hurriedly "We are working together after all."

It's a relief to talk so I'm not standing there like a complete moron and very un-Commander like. I smile. "What would you like to know?"

"Alright," she says. "Where are you from?"

I ponder for a moment at her question. "I grew up in Ferelden, near Honnleath. I was transferred to Kirkwall shortly after the Blight. This is the first I've returned in almost ten years."

"You haven't seen Ferelden in ten years? Are you glad to be back?"

I shrug. "I was not sorry to leave at the time. I did not expect to return." We begin walking around the training yard. "Now - between the Divine's murder and the Breach - I've arrived to find nothing but chaos." I give a bitter laugh.

"So you were in Ferelden during the Blight," she says. "Did you fight Darkspawn?"

Her question is innocent enough, but there are flashes in my head. Flashes of torture in the Circle, the pain, the hallucinations, Surana… it's all before me once again. I exhale slowly "No… I was stationed at Ferelden's Circle Tower… the Circle had troubles of its own. I… remained there during the Blight."

"What happened at the Circle Tower?" she asks softly, meeting my gaze.

I knew it would be asked of me at some point. And yet I am reluctant - if others knew of what happened… I would not be seen to be as a commander fit for the Inquisition. Instead I say:

"Few who survived the Blight have fond memories of that time. I would … prefer not to speak of it."

Thankfully she nods, knowing to not prod. She is just curious, I realise that. "Alright, what was Kirkwall like?"

I slip into my report mode, and tell it bluntly, as I do anyone else. It's a natural reflex and I think it helps when I speak of it. "While I was there, Quinari occupied and then attacked the city, the Viscount's murder caused political unrest, relations between mages and Templars fell apart, an apostate blew up the Chantry, and the Knight-Commander went mad… other than that, it was fine." I try a smile, but cannot muster it. Maker, why does she ask such hard-hitting questions? I almost feel like I'm being analysed by her.

"What happened between Kirkwall's Mages and Templars?" she asks curiously. I forget that she is from a small clan who have had little to do with the conflicts that have taken over my life.

"Well you were at the conclave: you must've heard people speak of it." I say.

"Yes… but you were _there,_ " she presses.

I do not like where this conversation is going. I know that she, a mage, is going to judge me, an ex-Templar, just like all the other mages who are streaming into Haven. Just when I think things will be better between us, she has to discuss the most sensitive topic. Can't they all just leave it be? I'm trying, so hard, to get away from that life - from what I was… can they not see that?

I sigh and cross my arms - a natural defensive manoeuvre I've come to adopt. "There was tension between mages and templars long before I arrived. Eventually it reached a breaking point. There was fighting in the streets. Abominations began killing both sides: it was a nightmare."

"What happened?"

I frown at the memory. "The Templars should've restored order, but red lyrium had driven Knight-Commander Meredith mad. She threatened to kill Kirkwall's Champion, turned on her own men! I'm not sure how far she would've gone," I admit. "Too far."

Lyla tilts her head. "So you opposed her?"

I nod. "I stood with the Champion against her - in the end. But I should've seen through Meredith sooner."

Hopefully she can see I am different. Maker, please let her believe it.

She tactfully changes the subject. "Varric's from Kirkwall. Did you two know each other?"

"I knew he was friends with the Champion of Kirkwall, but little else," I say, rolling my eyes. "We've spoken more since I joined the Inquisition: largely at Varric's insistence. Apparently I spend too much time with a serious expression on my face, and it's bad for my health," I say bitterly.

She smiles again, wanting to say more but stops herself. "Well I should let you get back to work…"

"Yes I suppose… although you did say I work too much." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Instantly I remember everything from that morning and my face feels so warm. Maker curse me…

But she laughs. And it's a genuine little laugh that I can't help but laugh in return. It's infectious and soon it's just us two, laughing on the edge of the training yard, laughing as if it's all so ridiculous and silly, despite there being a massive hole in the sky above our heads. Recruits are turning to look, but for once I do not care about this fall in protocol as I simply enjoy this moment, knowing that they are few and far between.

* * *

 ** _Reviews warm my little heart! Thank you!_**


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter Nine**_

* * *

Over the next few days, Lyla makes a point of coming to see me at least once a day, just to chat. I find myself finding it easier and easier to talk to her, as we observe the recruit mages together, ensuring they are prepared for the upcoming march to the summit. I have come to look forward to her discussions, which could sometimes last a few hours, for she was always on her own, and never with Dorian or anyone else. I like to think that I'm hopefully becoming her friend, and it's easy to see how all of these people around her came to trust her so completely, so quickly. On the few days she is away before we march, I can feel myself become sober from her absence, and I knock back into myself that it can't ever be something more. We are in the middle of a war, and the world could end at any moment. And yet…

I ready myself as we enter the war council room. The final checks have been made - now is the time. "The best of the mages are ready, Herald," I say formally. "Be certain you are prepared for the assault on the breach. We cannot know how you will be affected."

I try not to think about how she could be affected. It seems to be a thought many of us around the table are thinking, and yet dare not speak. If she is anxious about the huge task ahead of her, she does not show it, but departs straight away taking Dorian, Cassandra and Solas with her.

We march up from Haven, a mix of excitement and apprehension in the air. The threat of more demons is highly likely, so everyone is on their guard. I march with the vanguard, and thankfully morale with the troops is high - they have complete faith in her. And, as do I, however I cannot help but worry. The magic is unknown to us all, except Solas, so the consequences of her sealing the breach with the help of the mages is incredibly risky. I know, that if I had been here as a Templar ten years previously, I would not be marching happily uphill.

I approach the conclave and the best mages take their positions as we await the Herald. It is an awful sight to behold, the conclave. The red lyrium snakes all around the ruins, and I can hear that awful song in my ears. It pulls at me even now - the melody so much stronger here, where I am surrounded by the forsaken stuff. The temptation to clamp by hands over my ears is strong, but when I look behind me, I see her approach - her blonde hair swept to one side, and her eyes wide and staring at the breach. The anchor on her hand pules as she moves past me and closer to the breach. Our eyes meet for a moment, and the melody in my head pauses. It is now, I realise, that even if she does not care for me, I most certainly care for her.

Lyla looks to Solas and Cassandra beside her, before stepping as close as she dares to the breach high above.

"Mages!" Cassandra calls.

"Focus past the Herald!" Solas shouts. "Let her will draw from you!"

Magic surrounds me as Lyla struggles closer to the breach, her left hand is outstretched in front of her. She forces her way through the battling surges of the rift before the mages exude their magics and strengthen her. Staffs strike to the ground, cries are called as the mages pour out their mana strength to Lyla - all for her - as she closes the breach with a cry and her arm stretched out above. The air moves thick and fast around me, and the terrible song cries louder in my mind-

A loud crash, and I am thrown backwards from my feet, as is those soldiers beside me. The melody is still there but dimmer. I get to my feet and help those around me before looking back to Lyla. She is also getting to her feet, and I sigh with relief. Cassandra is there at her side, helping her up. "You did it." she says, for all of us to hear.

The soldiers, mages and templars around me cheer and cry with delight at our success. I smile, but there is still a hole in the sky, and something on the back of my neck tells me we are far from safe. Freya also looks concerned, but with the breach closed, our job here is done.

* * *

The troops are desperate for ale and songs when we are back at Haven. All the residents and those now part of the growing Inquisition are dancing and laughing, swapping stories, sharing kisses, and yet I stand back away from it all and observe the training yard. It does not feel right - it has gone far too smoothly. I cannot relax, so unsheathe my sword and practice sparring on a straw dummy. It helps me think upon my technique, and my future. Will the Inquisition be needed anymore? I try not to ponder it, and instead focusing entirely upon my stance.

"Is it dead yet?" a voice behind me says.

I glance over my shoulder to see Dorian watching me. He smiles and I turn back and continue training.

"You know, everyone is dancing and celebrating the close of the breach - all but two people," he continues coming to stand next to another dummy. "You and our lovely Herald."

I pause. I would have thought she would be pulled into the celebrations with Dorian and Sera. It does surprise me that she is not.

Dorian rubs his chin thoughtfully. "You know, I think she's waiting for something… or someone," he smiles mischievously before turning away and heading back to the crowds of Haven.

What in the world was he talking about? Does that mean she's waiting for Dorian, and his smug little face came down here to gloat about it to me? Or could it mean… could it possibly mean…?

Perhaps tonight would be the only night he would get to say something. I care about her, yet I have only just admitted that to myself - there is no way I can say it to her, or let anyone else know. To them, I am just the Commander: someone you really don't want to get on the wrong side with. I look longingly up to gates of Haven, chewing over my thoughts when, of all things, a war horn snaps me out of my trance.

I turn on my heel, and look back. Banners and flames in the mountains. There must be hundreds, no thousands of figures marching towards Haven. I shake my head - this cannot be happening! But instinct takes over, and I rally nearby soldiers to act. Thanks to their training, they are on their feet and to attention straight away. I dispatch them to the trebuchets and to check the defences before running back up to Haven.

"Forces approaching! To arms!" I call as I march through the gates. They are quick to oblige, and I can hear the Chantry bell tolling in the distance. There is panic around me as the dancing and merriment is brought to an abrupt halt, and some townsfolk start to scream in panic. It's got that feeling of war again and yet we are here, almost defenceless.

I'm met at the gate by Lelianna and Josephine, who are followed by Lyla and Cassandra. Villagers and soldiers alike run past us whilst Dorian catches up and quips: "Never a dull moment for southerners, is there?"

"Cullen?!" Cassandra asks, and I can see they are all looking at me, waiting for my command. These people are not soldiers - they are advisors like myself. Never before have I realised that we need a leader more than ever.

"One watch guard reporting. It's a massive force, the bulk over the mountain," I say, pointing.

"Under what banner?" Josephine asks.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. For a surprise attack, no force would display banners. "None."

"None?!"

They are silent around me, but Lyla has stepped forward to the gates, and I know that we are all looking to her. Naturally looking to her. It's obvious that, as the Herald, we follow her guidance and we advise. Her leadership seems natural and I know that I would follow her to my death if I have to.

There's a crash outside the gates, and knocking. Perplexed, we watch as Lyla steps forward, her hand raised in a signal not to follow.

"I can't come in unless you open!" cries a voice from the other side.

With no hesitation, Lyla is there, pulling the gates open, despite our protests. It could so easily be a trap! I unsheathe my sword, just in case of an attack, and Cassandra does the same. On the other side of the gates, a masked soldier stumbles forward before collapsing. Behind him is a youth, his knife dripping with blood from the masked soldier. His hat is large and covers almost all of his face. Cautiously, Lyla steps closer, and I'm there, by her side, ready to defend. I know she can take care of herself, but it's a natural instinct I can't shake.

The young man speaks. "I'm Cole. I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know."

"What is this?" Lyla demands. "What's going on?"

The young man, Cole, tilts his head. "The Templars come to kill you."

I feel like I've been stabbed. My body freezes and the grip on my sword tightens. "Templars?!" I say exasperated. I step closer to the boy who shies away towards Lyla. "Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?"

Cole speaks quickly. "The Red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages." He points to the mountain. "There."

I look past his outstretched hand and can see, upon a hill across the lake, two figures silhouetted against the marching Red Templars. The figure on the left seems familiar… and then it hits me. Samson? Surely not… "I know that man," I say quietly to Lyla. "But this Elder One…?"

Lyla is still beside me as we look up at the two figures. Samson is barely recognizable from the young man I once knew. His face looks gaunt, his hair greasy and slicked back. I cannot see him clearly but it's a sight that will haunt me for a long time, as next to Samson is a tall figure, his face distorted with what looks to be red lyrium. His body is skeletal and… incomplete. I have seen many terrible abominations in my time and yet the power that exudes from this being makes that terrible song in my mind louder. It's a calling I cannot ignore - and it is tempting to listen. Maker give me strength.

"He's very angry that you took his mages," Cole says slowly. There is something about the boy I cannot place, and yet I think he must be at least trying to help. In a situation like this, any help is worth taking, with questions asked later.

"Cullen," Lyla says. "Give me a plan, anything!"

"Haven is no fortress," I admit. "If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle." I look across to the trebuchets, where some of my troops are frantically calibrating. "Get out there and hit that force, use everything you can!"

She nods and I turn around, as always, prepared to command... "Mages! You have sanction to engage them!" I order. "That is Samson. He will not make it easy!" There are nervous glances between mages and soldiers. I raise my sword high. "Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!" They cheer and charge, providing cover as Lyla, Cassandra, Dorian and Solas run towards the trebuchets.

I order men and women to attack on sight and to ensure that those assisting with the trebuchets are kept safe. It's messy work once the Red Templars appear. I can hear them approach, hear the hum of their terrible song. They are deformed and I try not to loose my resolve. These are men and women who I may have known when I was in the Order. If things had not not gone differently, I could have…

No, I cannot think of what could've been now. It's clear they cannot be reasoned with - their minds are gone, almost to the state of a Tranquil, with no control of their thoughts or emotions. As I cut them down, one after another, I fall into a trance, where I'm doing my duty once more. I do not think about Lyla battling with them just feet away from me, her staff twirling in her hands, the magic pouring out of her to defend her friends and soldiers.

One trebuchet calibrated, she dashes off to the other one up the hill and I lose sight of her. The Red Templars are relentless and I lose count of how many I kill, as I step over their corpses. I see the signal that both trebuchets are ready to fire, and with no hesitation I give the order. They shoot high in the air and crash onto the mountain side, causing a massive avalanche. All around me the fighting pauses as we watch the Red Templar army get swallowed by the unforgiving snow. Some men begin to cheer - yes, a good chunk of the army has been destroyed in one swift move, but the battle is not over yet.

Well, I could not have been more right.

There is a terrible, terrible screech from the sky and I look up in disbelief. A fire bolt hisses down and explodes the further trebuchet where Lyla is. Panic tries to set in, but I call my soldiers. "Retreat to Haven! Retreat!"

I hold the gate open, urging them to run in. This cannot be happening. And then I see her, running down the slope towards me, blood splattered all over her. "Everyone to the gates!" she calls over her shoulder and they follow her without hesitation.

She stops by the smithy and I can't believe it but she's helping him get the door open to his burning workshop! Her compassion will kill her I think, but I cannot help but admire her. It's so typically like her to put everyone before herself. Once the smithy is safe, she's running with him towards me and does a final check to ensure she's the last one through.

"Move it! Move it!" I call to the final stragglers. With a little help, I'm pulling the gates shut as the dragon flies above us. We bar it shut and Lyla is next to me. The temptation to just take her somewhere safe is overwhelming, but I cannot. It is not right and she can look after herself... I know this.

"We need everyone back in the Chantry!" I call. "It's the only building that can hold against… that beast!" I look at her. "At this point, make them work for it."

* * *

I'm holding the Chantry doors open, helping injured villagers dash into a now full Chantry building. There is panic and screams and the smell of burnt flesh is everywhere. I reluctantly order soldiers to seal the doors shut but await the Herald. They oblige and I take in the scene of families screaming for their loved ones, their livelihoods, all destroyed so suddenly and unexpectedly. This is the war and death that I remember, which I did not think I would see again so soon. The suffering of innocents is so unfair - unjust - but I cannot grieve yet.

A knock at the chantry doors pulls me from my thoughts and Lyla is there, running in with Dorian, Cassandra and Solas. A final few stragglers run in with Lyla and the Chantry cleric is there, his stomach bleeding, leaving thick pools of blood on the flagstones. Cole is there, helping him sit when I approach. The doors are closed and sealed once more.

"Herald!" I say, and she looks at me, and my stomach is in knots. "Our position is not good," I admit. "That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us."

"I've seen an archdemon," Cole says. "I was in the Fade, but it looked like that."

I bristle. "I don't care what it looks like. It has cut a path for that army. They'll kill everyone in Haven!"

"The Elder One doesn't care about the village. He only wants the Herald," Cole says poignantly, looking at Lyla who cannot meet his gaze.

"If you know why he wants me, just say it," she says cooly.

The boy doesn't blink. "I don't. He's too loud. It hurts to hear him." I shake my head at the boy's cryptic messages but he continues. "He wants to kill you. No-one else matters, but he'll crush them, kill them anyway. I don't like him."

"You don't like-" I begin, but then stop myself, looking earnestly at Lyla. "Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche… we could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide."

She steps towards me. She is so close that I know that if I reach out now, I would be able to touch her. I resist. I cannot - must not. "We're overrun. To hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven," she says, calculating my words. It's a sobering thought that will be a reality soon enough.

My hand moves to touch her, but I snap it back, and rest it on the hilt of my sword. "We're dying," I say softly. "But we can decide how. Many don't get that choice." My voice breaks and I look away. Maker preserve us. At least I will be with her, when we go.

"Yes… that." Cole says quietly, looking over his shoulder before looking back at us. "Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies."

"There is a path," the old man croaks. "You wouldn't know it unless you'd made the summer pilgrimage … as I have." He tries to stand and Lyla steps closer. "The people can escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could… tell you."

Freya reaches out to support him. "What are you on about, Roderick?"

"It was whim that I walked the path. I did not mean to start - it was overgrown. Now, with so many in the conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… I don't know, Herald." He is gasping for breath, a hand clutched to his side. He's dying before our eyes and Lyla's brow knitted in concern. "If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident. _You_ could be more."

She blinks and I can see her mind process this information. Turning to me she says: "What about it, Cullen? Will it work?"

I nod. "Possibly. If he shows us the path." I pause. "But what of your escape?"

I dread her answer. She turns away and faces the Chantry doors. My Commander stance drops and I close my eyes, understanding. As with the smithy, she will sacrifice herself, her needs, for everyone else. How did we get this most unselfish person? Truly, she must be sent by Andraste.

"I… perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…" I try to fill the silence. But she does not respond. I turn away quickly, not wanting to see her resolve break. I think if she breaks, then I will too and all will be lost. "Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry. Move!" I order. They move out quickly, Cole helping Roderick limp along.

"Herald," he rasps. "If you were meant for this, if the Inquisition was meant for this, I pray for you." She nods as he heads into the Chantry with the soldiers. I select a few experienced soldiers for the task of loading the trebuchets, ready for attack.

Then it is just us, for a moment. A million thoughts run through my mind. This could be it - the last time I see her. Will I forever regret not telling her I care? How I want to follow her, but I know I cannot as everything she is sacrificing herself for would fall apart if I am not there to Command the Inquisition. It would be in vain if I did not continue. But how could I? How has this small elven woman become such a big part of my life, without either of us really knowing?

"These men will load the trebuchets," I say in a voice stronger than I feel. "Keep the Elder One's attention until we're above the tree line."

She nods and without a backward glance heads out. I watch her leave, Solas looking at me over his shoulder. I am thankful she is not alone. She is with friends who care for her too and I know I can trust them. I think.

"If we are to have a change - if _you_ are to have a chance - let that thing hear you," I shout before the doors swing shut. I don't know if she hears me.

* * *

The passage is dark but clear and we make quick progress. Lelianna scouts ahead and secures a save area above the tree line. I bring up the rear until at last we are there and all who were in the Chantry are evacuated. I watch in dismay as the dragon swoops down and a trebuchet explodes in a ball of fire. The final stragglers are climbing the hill, so I get my archer ready to light the signal.

Figures are running towards us, and I draw my sword, but it three friendly figures approaching. It hits me that it's not four. Cassandra struggles in the snow towards me, her armour glittering with blood.

"The Herald?" I manage to say.

Cassandra looks at Solas and shakes her head. "She… she is still there: told us to escape. She… is sacrificing herself for us all…" Her voice trails away as she looks down at the mountain. Cassandra is not the woman to cry and yet I can see how distraught she is. Her eyes glisten in the moonlight.

Looking down at Haven, I can see the huge dragon and that terrifying Elder One by the trebuchet. There is another figure there, and I hope that it's Lyla. I cannot see how she will survive and yet I pray. I am praying to the maker as I signal the archer to loose the signal arrow. It flies high above us into the air, and there is a silence as we all wait with baited breath.

The trebuchet is loosed and hits the mountain to our left. With a mighty rumble, the snow and rocks displace and crash below, covering Haven, the Red Templar army and - ultimately — Lyla. The dragon swoops off into the distance and there is total and utter silence.

"We… we must keep moving," I say eventually. We cannot stay out in the cold and freeze to death, not after her sacrifice.

I have no emotion. I am certain she is crushed under the snow with Haven. Perhaps, when we are safe, I will personally escort a small party to retrieve her body. Although how I will react if and when I find her crumpled body, I cannot say. Images flash in my mind of her suffocating under the snow, the life - her life - extinguishing. It is unbearable, and I look around me. The others are also struggling with the very reality that she is gone. A sacrifice for us all.

Our pace is slow as we trudge through the thick snow. Solas mentions, in a voice so flat and devoid of emotion, that he remembers seeing a clearing to the north, around a day's march from our location. It's all we have to go on, but as soon as Lelianna's scouts ahead report of a sheltered alcove in the mountains, we make great haste.

I do not speak to anyone unless I have to. I try and keep things in control and to not show any emotion, less it dampen the spirits of the troops and villages around me. It is torture to know that each step is taking me further and further away from her and yet I continue, remembering her sacrifice. Remembering her face when it was laughing and full of life. I remember those little times we spent down by the frozen lake, just talking. Her genuine interest in everything, in me.

I am not alone in my grieving. Cassandra barely rests and glares at anyone who dares to smile during our march. Solas, like me, only speaks when spoken too, otherwise he is out in front of our traveling column, always looking ahead, his face an expressionless mask. For once, Dorian is silent, and it's actually more unsettling than I thought. He does not mourn openly, but sometimes looks to the sky, his brows knitted in thought. The other members of the Herald's inner circle distance themselves - she was what brought them together. But lost in the mountains without Lyla's presence, they have nowhere to go. I catch Sera rubbing angry tears from her eyes, and glares at me when she notices.

Nearly two days later we are frozen from the cold, but the storm has cleared and the sheltered alcove Solas mentioned is in front of us. There is a sigh of relief throughout all of the travelers as we set up camp. I get to work right away to send out scouts to find out our location, and also set up guard rotation and duty. Everyone sets about their task, helping others by sorting rations of food, finding kindling and such. I am exhausted and numb so I can't stop to think. I do not stop to even sleep.

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading and reviewing!_**


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter Ten_**

* * *

I am pouring over a map of Thedas with Cassandra when one of my scouts appears and salutes.

"Commander - we've a sighting over the ridge of a person wading through the snow - alone." She says. She has no report, except through word of mouth. I exchange a glance with Cassandra.

"Do you have any more details?" the Seeker asks, crossing her arms.

"Not at the moment, Lady Pentaghast," she replies, her head bowed. "Except that the figure is completely alone and does not seem to be a threat."

"Hmm, perhaps a survivor from Haven," Cassandra muses. My gut twists uncomfortably inside me. No other stragglers from Haven had been sighted, and yet here was one. My curiosity is spiked. Could it be a trap?

"A watcher thinks they saw a flicker of green light…"

"Show me," I say, and the scout nods and leads the way out the camp. Cassandra is with me. I dare not think. I dare not hope. My mind is blank as we march up the slope to the open pass, guarded by some of my troops. I cannot… I must not…

The figure stumbles through the snow towards us, before falling to their knees. I run forward. It cannot be. My feet take control and age me forwards and Cassandra is hot on my heels. I am there and the figure collapses - it's Lyla. It's really her.

"There!" I cry. "It's her!"

"Thank the Maker!" Cassandra says, almost weeping.

I'm here, I'm right here in front of her and she looks up at me before her eyelids slip close and she passes out. Before anyone can come any closer, I am kneeing and scooping her up in my arms. She is frozen, with little to no colour in her face. Her fingertips are blue and I am astounded by how little she weighs in my arms. I turn and march quickly down to the camp where the survivors are emerging from their tents, halting in their tasks just to see me carry her down. The Herald. Alive and breathing - just - in my arms.

I take her to the healer's tent where I lay her down on a stretcher and various mages gently push me out of the way as they get close to her and begin their spells of warmth and revival. I linger by the edge of the tent and watch them work, feeling helpless. I silently thank the Maker that she is here, alive, and pray that she makes it through the night.

Hours pass until I can finally see her. She is asleep and Mother Giselle is sat by her pillow, watching her face and singing a soft chant. She stops when I approach.

"The Maker's will is strong," she whispers.

I am at a loss for words. "How is she?" I manage.

"She is sleeping, Commander. She will be fine when she awakes. Let her rest." Mother Giselle speaks gently and I slowly back away, my eyes never leaving Lyla's face. I reluctantly leave the healer's shelter. As she releases a content sigh in her sleep, I realise, with all my heart, that I truly do love her. I rest my head in my hands and swear under my breath.

* * *

My blood is boiling. We have argued deep into the night about our next steps and it's become ridiculous. All of our voices are raised and the villages and soldiers politely look elsewhere as we - who are meant to be leading the Inquisition - bicker like children.

"What would you have me tell them? This isn't what we asked them to do!" I exclaim.

"We cannot simply ignore this," Cassandra counters. "We must find a way!"

I turn on her. "Oh, and who put you in charge?" I say sharply. "We need a consensus, or we have nothing-"

Josephine tries to intervene. "Please, we must use reason! Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we're hobbled!"

"That can't come from nowhere-" I begin.

"She didn't say it could," Lelianna retorts. I glare at her, and she back.

"Enough!" Cassandra shouts. "This is getting us nowhere!"

"Well, we're agreed on that much," I snap back and cross my arms.

We fall into silence and I walk over to the edge of the campfire. Lelianna sits on the floor next to Josephine and Cassandra takes my spot by the map of Thedas. I run my fingers through my hair, wanting more than anything for this headache to go so I can think clearly. It is a luxury to argue, we know that, but it doesn't make it any better.

I feel eyes on my back so I turn to see Lyla standing by the edge of the healer's tent, looking at each of us in turn. I feel a great sense of shame for her to see me - and all of the advisors - argue so bitterly at each other. It is clear to me that _she_ is who we need to follow. I've known it for a while now, but perhaps I'm not the only one. We look at each other and I am in disbelief at her survival still. She looks weak and still very pale but also her eyes which had been so bright, full of energy and mischief are dulled. I cannot even bring myself to smile at her, for I am in total awe of her and will gladly kneel at her feet if she commanded it. I am hers to command, I see that now.

" _Shadows fall, and hope has fled.  
_ _Steel your heart, the dawn will come._ "

Mother Giselle begins a low chant. I watch as villages and soldiers close in, each wanting to see Lyla alive and awake.

" _The night is long,  
_ _and the path is dark.  
_ _Look to the sky,  
for one day soon,  
_ _The dawn will come_."

Lelianna looks up and continues, whilst others follow.

" _The shepherd's lost, and his home is far.  
_ _Keep to the stars, the dawn will come._ "

I watch a solider next to me step forward and join in.

" _The night is long,_  
 _and the path is dark._  
 _Look to the sky,  
_ _for one day soon,  
_ _the dawn will come_."

They are kneeling, kneeling at her feet. I am not surprised: hope is filling us once more… all because of her.

" _Bare your blade,  
_ _and raise it high.  
_ _Stand your ground,  
_ _the dawn will come.  
_ _The night is long  
_ _and the path is dark.  
_ _Look to the sky,  
_ _for one day soon,  
_ _the dawn will come_."

Smiles break out and hugs are shared. Solas is by Lyla's side and whispers something in her ear. Curiously, she follows him out of the camp, but I let it slide. Whilst I do not want her out of my sight, I know I am in no position to be selfish of her. I wait for the moment when she will come and speak to me.

* * *

"Here," Lyla says, pointing to a spot on the map, north of Haven.

"You are sure?" Cassandra asks, her eyebrows raised.

"Solas knows of it and I trust Solas. So yes, I am sure," she replies, determined.

"I'll send my agents out ahead to investigate-"

"No," Lyla interrupts. We are all looking at her, and I think the others are impressed. "We cannot stay here any long: we all march towards this fort at the crack of dawn. That way, we can get there as swiftly as possible. Our supplies are low - it's the only way."

"It will be hard," I say. "Some of the survivors are recovering from injuries sustained in the attack at Haven."

"We will go at their pace. It is essential we stay together. That way we can reach the fort with hope renewed."

"It is a good plan, Herald," I say, and I'm rewarding with a quick, faint smile.

I do not see her as we prepare to leave - I'm tied to my duty ensuring all troops are ready and able to move out in the morning. Tents are packed up and by the time dawn comes, Lyla is standing at the edge of the pass, waiting for all to follow her. And we do follow her.

It is not an easy path, but the weather holds. Lyla takes the time to walk down through the marching column to speak to the sick who are being carried, or the mothers with babes in their arms. Her compassion gives hope and her survival leaves them in just as much awe of her as I.

It is on the fourth day of solid marching, that I move up the column to come nearer to the front. There are murmurs among the travellers that we are getting close, and Lyla spends more time leading us all along the path. I catch up with her as we climb a steep hill and she strides forwards.

We walk in a companionable silence for a few moments, which I completely relish. I still cannot believe she is here: a living and breathing being walking beside me as she leads her followers. I know we are a long way from being safe, but she is here, so close that as we walk, sometimes our arms brush and I get an electric thrill down my spine. There is much more hope now, and I cannot help but look at her as we walk. I am supposed when I see that she is looking at me.

My face warms, and she smiles before looking down at her feet. It's all changed again. There might be a chance… why should I banish the thought? It might not be totally impossible. It's excitement I feel as we steal glances at each other.

But before I can speak, Solas approaches from behind. "We are close - come with me," he says to Lyla.

Immediately her face is set with determination and she jogs uphill with Solas, until they disappear over the ridge. I fall back and send scouts to follow them both, just incase. Something about Solas is unsettling me - how does he know of this fort in the mountains? But then I trust Lyla completely, and she trusts Solas, as much as I hate to acknowledge that fact.

"Commander?" It's Cassandra, catching up with me. The path is steeper and I realise I'm walking alone since Lyla went off with Solas.

"Hullo," I say. "Solas believes we are close."

She sighs. "That is good… you know I've been thinking about what's next."

I glance at her. "Next?"

"We need a leader of the Inquisition, and I think, well so does Lelianna, that perhaps-"

"Lyla," I say. It's not a question.

"Yes. What do you think?"

I do not hesitate. "I'll admit, I've been thinking the same. She _is_ the Inquisition, through and through. All these people already follow her - it's only natural."

"And you?" she asks. "Would you follow her?"

"To my death," I say simply.

Cassandra gives me a strange look. I realise that perhaps I've been a little too honest in my answer. My face warms and she opens her mouth to say something when one of my scouts returns from the ridge above.

"Commander!" he calls, saluting. "We have visual of the fort!"

There are cries of relief and joy behind me as the word is spread. I can't help but smile as I break into a run and catch up with Lyla and Solas who are stood, looking down at the valley below.

"Skyhold," Solas says.

I observe the fort nestled in the valley. It is vast and domineering, hidden away in the desolation of the mountains. There are trees peering out of courtyards, and some of the walls are crumbling, but other than that, it appears to have been left untouched but in good condition. It could not be more perfect.

* * *

By the afternoon of the following day, we are rested and exploring the grounds of Skyhold. More and more travellers are streaming through the gates and setting up camp in the grounds as excavation work begins to clear rooms. There is no time to waste on getting the fort habitable and set as the base for the Inquisition. But before that, we need the leader.

I stand waiting at the foot of the infirmary with Lelianna and Josephine. The Ambassador is almost giddy with excitement and I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm: it is contagious. Cassandra's plan to make Lyla the leader of the Inquisition was the only thing we could all agree on with no arguments. I feel my chest swell with pride at the thought of Lyla being the Inquisitor.

And there she is - in the doorway of the infirmary, looking around the grounds and smiling. She spots us waiting, and Cassandra beckons her over. I reluctantly walk away with the others as they chat, and head towards the gates where my soldiers and the surviving villagers and refugees are assembling. Moments pass, and the atmosphere is crackling with excitement. This is history happening, right here and now.

Hesitantly, Lyla steps up towards Lelianna and looks down at us all. I beam back at her, my pride overwhelming.

She smiles faintly and turns to Cassandra. They speak but I cannot catch the words. She eventually takes the sword from Lelianna, and turns it in her hands. "With fear running rampant, they need to see a mage standing for what is right," she says, her voice clear and crisp. "I'll defeat Corypheus standing with them, not over them."

"Wherever you lead us," Cassandra says, bowing her head. "Have our people been told?" She calls to the crowd.

"They have," Josephine replies from beside me. "And soon, the world."

"Commander! Will they follow?" she cries.

I draw my sword and turn to my troops. "Inquisition! will you follow?"

They cheer, so loud it rings in my ears. "Will you fight?" They respond by banging their shields or applauding. "Will we triumph?" It's overwhelming - they cry her name and reach towards her. I turn and raise my blade. "Your leader, your Herald - your Inquisitor!"

They flood forward around me and there are celebrations. I see the Iron Bull step forward with his Chargers to open a barrel of ale, which is passed around. There is music from somewhere and a very informal party begins. I walk up to the entrance hall with Josephine to join Lelianna and Lyla.

We push open the large doors and walk in together, but Lyla leads us. I notice her back straighten as she steps forwards and we walk down the length of the hall. Debris covers the floor and there's a hole in the roof, but it's not uninhabitable. We gaze around.

"So this is where it begins," I say, taking in the high ceiling, the massive beams, the empty fireplaces.

"It began in the courtyard. This is where we turn that promise into action." Lelianna says from behind me.

"But what do we do?" Josephine looks around at the stained tapestries and broken tables. "We know nothing about this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark."

Lyla is looking down at her hand and a pang of concern hits me. None of us can understand what it must be like to have the anchor, and I wonder if it's painful. And now we've given her more responsibility and doubtless sleepless nights. But she does not complain.

"Someone out there must know _something_ about Corypheus," she says finally.

I sigh. "Unless they saw him on the field, most will not believe he even exists."

"But we do have one advantage," Lelianna muses. "We know what Corypheus intends to do next. In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celene had been assassinated."

"Imagine the chaos her death would cause. With his army…" Josephine trails off.

"An army he will bolster with a massive force of demons, or so the future tells us." I cross my arms. The bad future in Lyla's report had been so grossly disturbing, I had not even had the chance to talk to her personally about it. Part of me was curious if she knew of my fate… the other part of me really did not want to know. I cannot even begin to imagine what it must've been like to have been there.

"Corypheus could conquer the entire south of Thedas, god or no god," Josephine exclaims.

Lelianna sighs in exasperation. "I would feel better if we knew more about what we were dealing with-."

"I know someone who can help with that," a voice behind us interrupts.

Varric is striding towards us, a sheepish smile on his face. "Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory, so I sent a message to an old friend… she's crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he's doing. She can help.

"I'm always looking for new allies. Introduce me," Lyla says.

The dwarf looks over his shoulder and I know exactly who he's talking about. My stomach drops.

"Parading around might cause a fuss. It's better for you two to meet privately, on the battlements."

I do not miss the glance Lelianna and Josephine give each other. So, they've figured it out too.

"Trust me," Varric says, turning away. "It's complicated."

We stand in silence for a moment before Josephine breaks the tension I think Lyla is oblivious to. "Well then, we stand ready to move on both these concerns."

"On your orders, Inquisitor," I say, trying the title for the first time. She barely glances at me, looking instead at Varric's receding figure.

"I know one thing," Lelianna says quietly. "If Varric has brought who I _think_ he has, Cassandra is going to kill him."

I try to smile in response, but just can't. If it is, indeed, who we think it is, then that's another person from my past, who _knows_ my past. How can I explain to Lyla that I'm not like that anymore? That I'm ashamed of what I did and didn't do? It's a sobering thought as I watch Lyla walk to the war room.

* * *

That evening I linger in the war room long after the meeting has adjourned and I'm alone. I am reluctant to return to my tent in the courtyard, just needing time away before I face the inevitable meeting with Hawke.

I mull over some reports by candlelight and rearrange a few markers before I reach out for some blank parchment and a quill. I begin to write:

 _Dear Mia,_

 _The last few weeks have been… interesting to say the least. I am alive and well and at our new base in the middle of the mountains astride the Orlesian and Fereldan border._

 _Haven was a mess. An absolute, and terrible loss of life. But I know it could've been worse if it had not been for her - the Inquisitor._

 _I now know that not only do I care for her, but when I thought she was lost at Haven, I didn't know how I could continue. I am realising that I am falling for her terribly, and I just can't let myself believe that anything will ever happen. I daydream, I pray, but I know I cannot. She is now leading the Inquisition and I am her Commander. Her faithful Commander. I will miss her talks with me down at the training yard in Haven. I will miss the feeling of just wanting to know her, not knowing that I loved her. Before I loved her. Shit. Mia, this is so beyond me. Any genuine, sisterly advice would be much appreciated..._

I scribble out the last line and then scribble over the whole letter before tearing it up and sprinkling it into the fire.

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading! Reviews are loved..._**


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter Eleven**_

* * *

The report in my hand is all that occupies my mind as I walk through Skyhold to the war room. The disappearance of the Grey Wardens is now becoming common knowledge and my concern prickles. Whilst the Blight is ten years gone, the sign of the dragon or archdemon flying above Haven has set everyone wondering where the Wardens are. I can't help but mirror Lelianna's concern. I'm so engrossed that I bump straight into Lyla as she leaves Solas' rooms.

"Oh!" she gasps.

"Inquisitor! I, ah, I'm sorry, are you alright?" I stammer, my face feeling warm. I try to ignore all around us - the Inquisitor's court grows larger by the day with a mix of Fereldan and Orlesian nobles. No doubt they will love to gossip about this.

She nods. "Yes, yes, sorry I wasn't watching where I was going…" She tugs her hair behind her ear. I notice that it's starting to grow out.

"Neither was I… ah…" I'm struggling for words, and I rub the back of my neck out of habit. Then we both laugh, and the awkwardness is relieved, albeit momentarily, as a loud snicker behind us makes me glance over my shoulder.

Leaning against the large open fire, that's quickly become Varric's spot, is the dwarf himself with a tall, dark-haired woman. Instantly I slip back into my Commander mask as Mariam Hawke crosses her arms and tilts her head at Lyla and I.

"I'll see you in the war room, Cullen," Lyla says, looking stiffly at Hawke before turning away. I watch her leave until Hawke interrupts my thoughts.

"Well, isn't this a blast from the past," she says, a lazy grin on her face.

"I'll leave you two to catch up," Varric says tartly, sauntering out of the hall.

Resisting the urge to turn and follow Lyla, I incline my head politely. "Greetings, Hawke."

Her smile is mischievous, her icy blue eyes sparkling. "It's Commander now, isn't it? You have… changed," she says finally. "I did not expect to see you here, and fitting in… hmm, so well."

I ignore her bait. "I did not expect to see you here," I counter. "The Seeker has been looking for your for months. Why appear now?"

"I've tried to stay away from all this trouble," she admits, her face turning serious. It's a look I'm not entirely accustomed to. The Hawke I remember was always looking on the brighter side, always making light of situations. Instantly I let me guard drop and watch as she mulls over her words before answering me. "I can't leave something unfinished, and Corypheus is my business. I simply can't leave it, despite Fenris' objections."

"Is he here?" I ask conversationally. This is probably the most serious - well normal - conversation I've ever had with the Champion of Kirkwall.

She hesitates. "No… I had to do this alone. I can't drag him into this mess again."

We lapse into silence. It's strange to see Hawke, here, present in my new life I'm establishing. I'm desperately trying to forget Kirkwall, of Meredith and everything I did wrong or too late. And now Hawke is here, and I wonder if she's spoken to Lyla about it… about my role in it all…

"The Inquisitor seems well suited to her role. Although she's certainly not what I was expecting," Hawke says, looking over my shoulder. I turn to see Lyla by the dais, nodding politely to some nobles and exchanging a few words.

"What were you expecting?" I ask, still watching her.

"Not an elf, for one," she chuckles, and the old Hawke is back. Blunt, sarcastic Hawke. "And nor did I expect to see so many people falling to her feet - including you."

I glare at Hawke. I'm not sure whether I'm relieved she's back to her usual self, rather than the serious woman from moments ago.

"She is already a remarkable leader…" I say lamely.

Hawke steps towards me and pats my arm. "Take it from me, Commander." She is serious again. "When the world is ending, the last thing you want to do is wait. I only wish I had acted on impulse with Fenris earlier." And with that she walks away, leaving me to wonder at her words. Had Varric told Hawke about that letter he snatched from me in Haven?

I shake my head and follow in Lyla's footsteps towards the war room. It's easier for Hawke to say - hindsight is a wonderful thing.

* * *

With even more recruits and refugees arriving at Skyhold, all of my time is spent organising and overseeing the repairs along with guard duty and scouting. I set up my makeshift desk right in the courtyard opposite the gates so I can be the centre of all activity coming in and out of the keep. At night, once late meetings have finished, I do try and sleep in one of the tents, but when I just my eyes I have the nightmares of the Circle, of a Harrowing where Lyla is the one I have to kill when it goes wrong.

I hardly see her in the first week of our arrival at Skyhold. She is busy helping with the renovations too, and in fact, the only time we speak is at the war table. I try to talk to her, but she always dashes off, and I cannot get a word in. Her mind is busy - well she is busy - now that she's the Inquisitor and not just the Herald.

It is inevitable, I suppose, that now she's needed by so many people, that it really is purely business between us. I am overseeing a report at my makeshift desk, when I look up and see her in a heated debate with Cassandra, Vivienne and Solas a few feet away. They are far enough from me that I cannot hear their discussion, but I am curious when I see all of these people - as stubborn as one another - clearly disagree on something. They turn to look at the little camp of wounded refugees where the strange young man Cole is wandering through, looking at the injured.

Lyla walks towards him, ignoring the others and I watch from the corner of my eye as she speaks quietly to Cole, her face full of concern. Vivienne strides away whilst Solas lingers to watch. I do not realise that I'm being so obvious in my staring until Cassandra blocks my field of vision to stand in front of me.

"Commander?" she enquires, an eyebrow raised.

I look busily down at the ignored report in my hand and try to digest. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lyla crouch down next to the boy and gently pat his back. Cassandra looks over her shoulder to see what I'm looking at.

"I thought that perhaps Cole was a mage, but Solas disagrees," she explains, misinterpreting my gaze. "But he insists Cole is a spirit… or a demon."

I shrug, trying not to let the word 'demon' send a shiver down my spine. "What does the Inquisitor think?"

"She thinks that he should stay; spirit or demon or whatever the boy is." Cassandra crosses her arms. "I don't know what to think, to be honest."

We fall into a companionable silence as we watch Lyla speak with Cole at great length. Eventually, Solas turns away and walks to his solar. His eyes meet mine and there's something there that's bothering me. He stalks away, glancing back once to look at Lyla. It's unsettling to think that perhaps he also has some feelings towards Lyla…?

"Cassandra," I say quietly.

"Hmm?" she says distractedly.

"I… I must ask - is there something going on between Solas and… and the Inquisitor?" There, I've said it. Now to dread the answer.

I almost think she's going to laugh in my face. Something stops her when she sees me looking at her again. "And why must you ask that, Commander?" she is frowning at me. Damn it.

"Just curious. Heard some of the recruits talk about them," I lie smoothly. Her eyes narrow - I know she's no sucker to bullshit. "You have travelled with them both…?"

Cassandra glances back at Lyla before lowering her voice. I lean closer to hear. "I don't know, to be honest, Cullen. I think it's obvious the apostate pines for her - but whether it's her he's after or just his fascination with the mark on her hand… I do not know. And… I am not one to gossip, and I never thought you would be too!"

I gape at her. "Not gossip, Seeker. Just curiosity."

"Oh really? Do you take a fancy for the Inquisitor too? There seems to be a fan club…"

"Cassandra," I say firmly, trying to deny everything. The last thing I need is for this clever woman to figure it out so she can blab it to her newest friend.

I think that if her eyebrows rise anymore, they're going to disappear into her hair. "Oh," she says, smiling broadly at me.

Maker's breath… "Forget I said anything."

"You do like her!" she whispers excitedly. I check myself - is this really Cassandra? Getting a small thrill out of gossip? "Dorian was right!"

"Dorian!" I exclaim. An abundance of questions explode in my mind, but the Seeker grins and walks away with a knowing look as Lyla makes her way over. Wait… did Cassandra just wink? I know I must look ridiculous standing there, feeling like I've been thrown into a pool of ice.

"Is everything alright?" Lyla asks innocently. Shit, she's standing here next to me…I look down at the desk.

"Yes, Inquisitor." I scan the desk for paperwork. "We set up as best we could in Haven," I say hurriedly, rubbing the back of my neck. "But could never prepare for an archdemon or - whatever that was. With some warning we might've…" I trail off as our eyes meet.

"We were all shaken by what happened," she says quietly.

I turn back to my desk. "If Corypheus strikes again we might be able to withdraw… and I wouldn't want to." I think of how I had retreated with the others at Haven, and left her behind. I pray to the Maker every day that she came back. But never again will I retreat and leave her. I try to give her a report, which is probably what she came over to talk to me about. "We must be ready: work on Skyhold is underway - guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here, Inquisitor."

"How many were lost? At Haven."

I glance at the roll of parchment I'm preparing for Lelianna. "Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could've been worse. Morale was low, but it's improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor," I smile.

"Everyone has so much faith in my leadership," she admits. "I hope I'm ready."

I straighten and turn to her, feeling humble at her confiding in me. "You won't have to carry the Inquisition alone… although it must feel like that. We needed a leader and you have proven yourself."

"Thank you, Cullen". I'm smiling at her - she's said my name, again, and I still can't get used to it. "Our escape from Haven," she looks down and spreads her hands. "It was close. I'm relieved that you - that so many made it out," she corrects herself.

I still at her words. Is that a small beacon of hope I feel, igniting inside of me? "As am I," I say, looking upon her face honestly. I notice a small dimple on her chin, a faint scar on her forehead and the hint of freckles. I do not realise we are standing so close for me to make out these endearing details. I cannot believe I left her in Haven and that she returned. It haunts my dreams as much as the Harrowing, as much as the Circle and Kirkwall. Another horror to try and bury - another regret.

We fall into a strange silence as we remember the attack on Haven, and she turns to leave. I think of Hawke's words from the other morning and I act impulsively - I reach out and take her arm. She turns to look up at me, her expression softening. "You stayed behind," I say quietly. "You could have-" I can't bear to say it. "I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word." And she does, I cannot let this happen again - not be so unprepared and run the risk of losing her.

Her face softens and I feel my heart swell. Does she… does she feel this too? This electric field between us, this wave of excitement? I drop my arm to my side, and step back. I tell myself this cannot happen. She turns and walks away, and I wonder if she's telling herself the same thing.

* * *

Lyla returns from a short scouting trip to search the nearby mountains the following day. I have not spoken to her since I almost confessed my confused feelings to her. But as she dismounts, there is a piece of her charming self back in place - with her hair windswept and her cheeks and nose pink from the cold mountain air. She smiles at me as she hands the reigns of her horse over to Master Dennit, and walks over, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Hello Cullen," she says softly.

Cassandra walks past us and gives a long, knowing look to Lyla. My eyes widen as the elf in front of me blushes and chews her lip. A soft chuckle from the Seeker as she climbs the main steps makes me want to demand an explanation, but it takes everything to stop myself. Lyla has, after all, come to speak to me personally and I will not turn down this opportunity.

"Can I ask you something?"

I look down at her. "Of course."

She takes a deep breath. "Did you… leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?"

I frown. "No. I fear I made few friends there. My family's in Ferelden," I explain.

"So… no-one special caught your, ah, interest?" She

"Not in Kirkwall…" I say before I can stop myself. I meet her gaze and she's tugging her hair behind her ears again. Well, it's the truth. Andraste preserve me, what I would give to know her thoughts…

Lady Vivienne strolls past us. "Glad you have you back, my dear," she says to Lyla. "I must talk to you about something... when you have a moment."

"Of course, Lady Vivienne," Lyla nods.

"No rush, darling. I can see you're occupied at the moment." She turns to me. "Good afternoon, Commander. Excellent work on the renovations," she says before walking away.

"Lady Vivienne's views on Templars are… surprisingly traditional," I admit to Lyla, when the tall mage is out of earshot. "I'd got used to mages disliking me on principle."

"Hmm, I've never disliked you on principle," Lyla says, a lovely, mischievous glint in her eye.

"Ah, um… thank you." I stammer. She was so shy, so unsure moments before, and now her confidence returns and throws me completely. And yet, it's something so simple and reassuring to hear that even when we were arguing at each other about the mages way back in Haven, they even then, she did not dislike me. She does not hate me. I allow myself a smile as she catches up with Lady Vivienne.

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading... reviews are loved!_**


	12. Chapter 12

_**Chapter Twelve - Interlude 1**_

* * *

She takes in his office - the tidy bookshelves on warfare, the neat desk of reports and the stacks of paperwork unsorted on the floor. The room is bare, but he only moved into his new office a few days ago. Still, Lyla can't help but try and memorise every detail. It is empty and she is alone, yet it is clearly his office and his haven. She steps lightly over a stack of unsorted books and brushes her fingers idly against the spines of the thick tomes, breathing in their smell. There's something quite homey and… safe about being here. It feels like a little refuge but she can't quite place why that may be.

Lyla tugs her growing hair behind her ears and leans against the desk, gazing out of the arrow slits, overlooking the entrance. She cocks her head to the side and studies the view - of course he would pick the tower where he can monitor every coming and going of the fort. With a small thrill, she realises that he will always know when she's returning from a journey or mission. Why does that make her stomach flutter?

It feels like a constant presence, this feeling inside. Her head feels light and she can't concentrate sometimes. Creators, what was wrong with her? The last thing she needs to be worrying about is whether feelings are reciprocated! But she can't help it, as she sits down in the chair behind his desk and makes herself comfortable. Banishing the thought of what he would say if he came in now to see her sat at his desk, she looks up past the ladder to see the late afternoon sun streaming in.

Curiosity picks at her, but she is enjoying the comfort of the chair, enjoying the fact that she is alone, in his rooms. She remembers their talks by the frozen lake in Haven - how they were starting to get to know one another before it was, well buried under the snow. Lyla thinks back to when she found the camp after Haven. How he had been the one to find her, and - she's pretty certain - he was the one who had carried her to the healer's tent. The first few nights in the camp were hard to remember, but she cannot forget the feel of warmth, the soft fur of his shrug and the sensation of feeling… secure, despite everything. Perhaps there was even a whisper of her name on his lips, but she had been delirious at the time.

She glances up at the ladder and the enticing light. What is up there, she wonders. Chewing her bottom lip, she finally gets up and strides over to the ladder, putting a hesitant hand on the first rung.

The door beside her flies open and Cullen walks in, busily reading a report in his hand that he doesn't even see her standing here, with a hand on the ladder. She snaps is away in a swift movement that gets his attention.

"Inquisitor!" he exclaims, dropping his reports.

Lyla suppresses a chuckle at his reaction, and can feel her face flushing. "Commander! Sorry, I was just passing through, and - let me help you with those," she says, crouching next to him.

He is mumbling apologies under his breath, which she can feel on her cheek. Her hands are busy stopping up reports and a jolt runs through her when their hands touch under a stack of papers. She pauses and looks up at him, their fingers just touching. His lands are hidden in leather, but surprisingly warm. Their eyes meet and is it just her, or did his gaze soften? She looks away and yet their fingers remain, slowly becoming entwined. She is not sure who is tying them up - it could be her or him, or perhaps both of them?

Lyla lets out a sigh she didn't realise she had been holding and gently tugs her hand away. Every bone in her body protests, but she cannot, must not, let her emotions get involved. He's the Commander and she's the Inquisitor. It's ridiculous…

Perhaps he's thinking the same. Creators, what she would give to know his thoughts! For he stands abruptly, picking up the remaining reports and turns away. She slowly gets to her feet, looking at his back, trying to ignore the feelings that are welling inside of her.

"I… I should go," she says softly. He looks at her over his shoulder and before she can falter, Lyla backs out of the door, closing it gently behind her. On the other side, she rests her back to the wood and slides to the floor, looking up at the cloudless sky. Little does she know that Cullen stands on the other side, his hand on the latch, but not opening it, his head resting against the wood.

The door across the bridge opens and Lyla is pulled out of her thoughts when Solas appears on the bridge. He spots her sat there, crumpled at Cullen's door. Lyla rubs her brow and stands, hoping he does not see her resolve breaking for a human man.

Finding strength she did not know she could possess, Lyla walks away from the Commander's tower towards Solas. Her feet feel heavy and everything is telling her to turn around and go straight back to that tower. To talk to him about… well everything.

"Is everything alright, Inquisitor?" Solas asks quietly, his face expressionless.

But no, she should stay and talk to Solas now, so braves a smile. "Yes, sorry about that! Just had a terrible headache all day from the endless stream of reports," she lies smoothly, although she's not convinced he believes her.

There is a silence and Lyla can't help but look over her shoulder once. The door is opening so she spins her head back round to Solas. "You know, Solas, I was just wondering if you could tell me more about your journeys into the fade?" she says tactfully changing the subject.

"You continue to surprise me," Solas says. "Alright, let us talk… preferably somewhere more interesting than this."

She cocks her head to the side and blinks. In that split second she feels cold and keeps her eyes closed. There are birds singing, the distant soul of recruits training in the background and the sound of snow crunching underfoot. Opening her eyes, she cannot believe that she is standing in Haven, looking up at the chantry, as peaceful as the day she arrived.

"Why here?" she asks.

Solas leads her up. "Haven is familiar - it will always be important to you."

Lyla follows him slowly. "We've talked about that already."

She blinks again and this time they are in the prison underneath the Chantry. It's slightly hazy at the edges, but Lyla knows that this is where she woke up after the conclave.

"I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor," Solas says, looking around the dim chamber.

"I'm glad someone was watching over me," she manages to smile.

"You were a mystery, and you still are." he continues. "I ran every test I could imagine - searched the fade - yet found nothing… Cassandra suspected you implicitly - she threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn't produce results."

A twinge of dread pulls at Lyla's stomach. Solas's eyes have not left her face, and it leaves her uncertain. She tries to lighten the mood. "Cassandra's like that with everyone."

Solas laughs, and it's so genuine that Lyla can's help but chuckle with him. He turns and they are outside of the Chantry again. She watches as he steps forwards and looks up at the breach.

"You were never going to wake up," he continues. "How could you? A mortal sent physically through the fade?" He turns to her. "I was frustrated. Frightened. The spirits I might've consulted had been driven away by the breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra: or she in me. So, I was ready to flee."

Lyla frowns. "But you stayed…?"

"I did," he replies simply and turns again to the breach. "I told myself, 'one more attempt to seal the rifts'." He pauses. "I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would effect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow… resigned myself to flee and then…"

A flash of green light, a hazy memory of them closing that first rift together. He turns and smiles.

"It seems you hold the key to our salvation," he repeats the words he spoke to her then, at the conclave. "You had sealed it with a gesture, and right then I felt the whole world change."

It was like an icy blast had swept over her as his words sunk in. Never before had she seen the apostate so open with his thoughts and emotions. She tries to smile. "Felt the whole world change?" she repeats, meeting his gaze.

"A figure of speech," he says quickly.

She smiles faintly. "I'm aware of the metaphor. I'm more interested in 'felt','" she jokes.

Solas smiles broadly, his voice catching in his throat. "You changed… everything."

Lyla chuckles nervously. "Sweet talker."

His smile falters and he's hesitant. Lyla, unsure of what to make of it steps forward to close the distance between them and kisses him. It's a strange sensation to be kissing Solas, and she realises far too late that what she's doing. She breaks the kiss and goes to turn but Solas shakes his head and reaches for her, pulling her into his arms.

It is a passionate kiss from the elf and Lyla feels herself falling. She reaches up to touch his face, to want to run her fingers through his hair - but she falters when there is no thick, curly hair underneath her touch, but rather a soft shaven head. He is deepening the kiss but she is searching for something - anything - to match his obvious passion. And yet all she can think about is him, not Solas, and what it would be like to be kissing the Commander instead.

They break apart, but he kisses her again and she scolds herself when she lets him. No… no no no, this is wrong, she is thinking, but cannot help it. She is picturing someone else as Solas kisses her and her shame is burning as her stomach flutters to imagine him drawing her closer…

This time, he breaks the kiss and shakes his head. "We shouldn't," he says, leaving her confused. "It isn't right." Does he know what she's thinking? "…Not even here."

Lyla looks around her. "What do you mean, 'even here'?"

A faint smile. "Where did you think we were?"

She looks up, realisation setting in and something else - relief? "This isn't real." It's not a question.

Solas shrugs. "That's a matter of debate. Probably best discussed after you … wake up."

Lyla jolts and sits upright. She looks around and it's her large chamber at Skyhold. She is wrapped in darkness and totally alone. She huffs and flops down onto her pillow, gazing out the open door to the night sky. There is silence everywhere, save for her own breathing. She tries to get comfortable, but something is burning inside her, and she feels sheepish and guilty. It had all been a dream yes? Seeing Cullen in his office, then speaking to Solas at Haven. How had it all happened? Her admiration for the elf was clearly becoming something more to Solas, and yet she could not feel that way. Now that she realised that in the dream she had been kissing Solas, she felt empty. It was a void of no emotion and something was telling her that her desire was already spoken for by another… something she had been starting to suspect since their initial meetings in Haven.

It is only and hour or so until dawn, so rather than seek a sleep of unwelcome dreams, Lyla gets up and changes, wiping away the sleep from her eyes and pulling back her hair. She has been growing it out so it now sits in a neat ponytail on-top of her head, a few strands loose around her face and ears. Without thinking, her thoughts elsewhere, she leaves her chambers and heads down the empty corridors to the war room, where she hopes to find solace in concentrating on the real matters at hand regarding the Inquisition.

Of course he's here. She curses silently but smiles at the Commander who is leaning over the large table, already in his armour and ready for their early meeting, which isn't for another hour. Lyla knows she can't dart out of the room now, so holds her head high and takes her place in her usual spot opposite him at the table.

"Can't sleep?" she asks innocently enough, hoping her voice doesn't expose how nervous she feels.

He rubs the back of his neck, unable to meet her eyes. A thrill runs down her spine at the endearing habit she's coming to love. Love? No… no no no, don't think like that…

"I, ah, something like that, yes," he says finally. "You?"

"Something like that," she repeats quietly, and glances up to see a small smile play on his lips. She tries not to look at that scar on his upper lip, and curbs her curiosity to ask how he got it. Now is really, really not the time. "Fenedhis," she swears under her breath.

"I'm sorry?" Cullen asks, and she stills.

"Ah, just an elven curse," she says hurriedly, her face burning.

"Is something the matter, Inquisitor?"

She rolls her eyes at the title, but catches herself before she can remind him of her name. "It's just… I think back to Haven and I already miss it… as in, I miss how naive we were about this whole situation. Before dragons or archdemons or whatever… and I miss…" she sighs. "I miss idle chats between friends - I miss our talks down by the lake when we had time to spare." She laughs bitterly. "I guess in the grand scheme of things, I can't really complain."

"So do I," Cullen says, and they fall into a strange silence of many unspoken words. "Look, Lyla, there's something I-" he begins, but the chamber door flies open and Josephine practically skips in.

"Ah! Good morning Inquisitor, Commander!" she says, breathlessly. "Guess who is this close to getting us invitations to the Winter Palace masquerade ball in a few months?"

Cullen and Lyla exchange a bemused glance, which Lyla relishes. She goes and links her arm with the ambassador. "Tell me all about it, Josie," she smiles, ignoring Cullen's gaze, ignoring his smile and desperately trying to ignore every damn thing about him.

* * *

 _ **Hope you enjoyed the interlude from Lyla's POV. Reviews loved!**_


	13. Chapter 13

**_Chapter Thirteen_**

* * *

 _A chill. A bead of cold sweat down my back. I am suffocating under my armour, under this ridiculous Templar armour. But I do not move. I am alone in this echoing Harrowing chamber and she is here. Her back is to me, the cavernous room is swallowed in darkness, and she is swathed in light. I call out, but no words come out. I am trying to talk, trying to speak but there is silence - I have no voice. I approach, my feet running what feels like miles but the distance takes an age to close between us. I reach out, my arm unsteady but my fingers brush her shoulder. She turns slowly and I know it's the Hero of Ferelden - I've been here before._

 _But as she turns, her face changes, becoming Lyla. Her hair lightens, and delicate vallaslin appears on her cheeks. She looks up at me, this exquisite elven woman with green eyes, drawing me to her. My Templar armour is melting away until I am bare, and her too. I do not look, but I close the distance until our noses touch and our lips brush. It's electrifying, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I can feel every muscle in my body lean towards her, be drawn to her. The kiss deepens and I snake my arms around her, feeling her body melt into mine._

 _She shivers, and I break away to see her shaking all over. Her skin has gone so, so pale and the ice magic she has learnt to master, wraps around her. Her lips turn blue, her eyelashes white and I'm reaching out, trying to touch her, crying for her but there is no sound and I cannot get to her. She is screaming, suffocating in the cold, her bright green eyes fading into grey. She is dying in front of me and I cry out, my sword in my hand and plunge it through her heart. Doing my duty. Yes, doing my duty, as I always have done. She screams, her body withering and my ears bleed -_

I wake with a start, my chest heaving. I lean over the bed and retch onto the floor, but nothing comes up. I'm drenched in sweat yet I am shivering and cold. The nightmares are getting worse - becoming much clearer than faded terrors. I blink rapidly and reach for a goblet of water. I am terrified to close my eyes incase I fall back into that nightmare, so I splash the water over my face. I sit up in my bed and search the floor for my loose cotton shirt and pull it on, quickly followed by my leather greaves. I look about my new quarters at Skyhold and gaze up at the open sky above the ladder. There is no way I am going to close that up anytime soon. I breathe in the fresh night air and gaze at the hanging ivy moving gently in the breeze.

I slide down the ladder into my office and unlock all of the doors. I am reluctant to leave them open when I sleep - old habits die hard. And besides, there is no way I want anyone coming into my office to drop off a report and to hear me have a nightmare. What sort of Commander would I be if that became common knowledge?

Striding out of the tower and across the battlements, I can't help but glance up to the tallest tower where Lyla's quarters are. I pause when I see that the huge glass doors are thrown open, and a figure leaning against the balcony edge. I'm too far away to make it out, but I'm pretty certain it's Lyla there, standing alone and gazing out. I wonder why she's awake at this awful time in the morning, hours before dawn. Her head turns - I can just make it out - and I'm now certain she is looking at me - also a lone figure out at this silent hour. I try to shake the dream I've just had of her, but I can't help but wonder how she would feel to caress, to kiss…

The silhouette of Lyla finally backs away from the balcony, back into the rooms and my heart sinks. I shake my head and follow the steps down to the deserted training ground. I pick up a short steel sword and swing it loosely in my hands, getting my stance ready and stepping into the training ring.

The best way to shake the dreams is always to train on my own - it's something I've always done, even when wooden swords were heavy in my hands as a child. Now I start a dance with steel under the moonlight, the only sound is my breathing, the blood in my ears and my boots scuffing the dirt. I turn in a swift movement as if attacking an enemy from behind, and I almost jump to of my skin when my blade is met.

Lyla's short training sword meets my blade and I step back, gaping at her. I open my mouth to speak, but she does not let me, as she twirls the sword in her hand and initiates a spar. Stuck dumb but instincts taking over, I oblige and we spar in silence. I watch her every move, amazed by her light footwork, in awe of her sword skills. Her hair is loosely tied back and she wears a light cotton shirt which is far too big for her. When she turns sharply on one foot, the bottom of the shirt lifts up and I see a flash of her toned stomach, which makes me lose my balance - I block a low attack at just the last minute before she surprises me and trips me up.

"Oof!" I let out as I land on my back in the dirt. I cough and she stands over me, a hand on her hip. Her chest is heaving from our match but she is grinning at me and I return it warmly. _She is screaming, suffocating in the cold, her bright green eyes fading into grey. She is dying in front of me and I cry out, my sword in my hand and plunge it through her heart. Doing my duty-_

The memory of the dream flashes before me and I let go of my sword, leaving it on the ground. She reaches a hand out to help me up but I shake my head and jump to my feet and turn away. Is this a dream too? Will she die in front of me any moment now?

"I didn't expect you to know how to spar with a sword," I say in the end. I pick up my blade from the ground and inspect the hilt.

"Most people don't know," she admits. "I'm awfully rusty though."

"Hardly," I say. "You absolutely won that round. I dread to think what you're like when you're not rusty." There, I'm trying to lighten the mood, and I think it works.

She smiles sheepishly. "I learnt a little about sword craft in my clan, but the training soon stopped when I came into magic."

"Oh?"

"Well my Keeper thought there was no point in using swords when I could magic ice storms and the like. But I need to practice again - I'm going to specialise to become a Knight-Enchanter. What do you think?"

She looks up at me honestly. I think of the way she moved with the sword and that using magic as well as her quick sword craft skills will be impressive, if not terrifying.

"I think that's incredible. Although I'm pretty sure a magical sword is a lot different to a steel one."

She pulls a face. "Ah, you're right. Perhaps you can help me train? If you don't mind of course," she says hurriedly.

"Of course I'll train you," I reply instantly. The chance to train this incredible woman, just us? I thank the Maker for these small blessings. Even if she does not feel the same, at least I can enjoy these small stolen moments.

Beaming at me, Lyla twirls her sword again. "Alright then, how about another round?"

I grin and we start again. this time I'm more prepared and that nightmare is fading away as I train with her. Lyla's technique is light and quick where as I am slower, more perceptive and calculating.

"Try to feint more often," I pant over a lunge I block lazily. "Otherwise you'll become too predictable in your movements."

She chews her bottom lip and attempts a feint, which I shrug off. She tries another, and another until I'm chuckling at her concentration. She's becoming more and more predictable the harder she tries. It's almost endearing.

Lyla grits her teeth and tries once more, but overdoes it and slips. Now she is the one to land in the dirt with a small _thump_.

" _Fenedhis_ ," she swears.

I chuckle. "Not so fun on the ground is it?"

Lyla sits up, rubbing her back. "So funny, Commander," she grumbles, but she's smiling and I reach my hand down to help her up.

She takes it without hesitation and I pull her up. Her hand fits into mine so easily and I am thrilled that neither of us are wearing gloves. Her delicate hand is warm and when she's on her feet I am loath to let it go. She's right in front of me and I've still got her hand. I sigh as she entwines her fingers with my own. Lyla bows her head, resting her brow on my shoulder. I let my mouth brush the top of her head as I inhale her scent, the smell of her silvery blonde hair. It's sweet and reminds me of Ferelden strawberry fields. I close my eyes, wanting nothing more that to stay here forever, lost in this moment.

"Is this a dream?" she whispers into my collarbone.

I kiss the top of her head, as if it's the most natural thing to do in the world. "I hope it is not," I mumble. "My dreams tend to be much, much worse."

She pulls away a little and peers up at me. "Is that why you're up at this hour?"

"Yes," I admit with a sigh.

She remains silent, her eyes wide with concern. I shake my head and slowly and regretfully, unlink my fingers from hers. "I.. I need to wake the recruits," I say, glancing at the sky which is lighting up, now close to dawn.

Lyla licks her lips and turns away. "Thanks for training with me… will you… will you still spar with me again tomorrow?"

My stomach is twisting. Perhaps she can see how I feel about her and perhaps she's trying to let me down easily. But I will not deny the chance to be this close to her. "Alright - same time tomorrow," I confirm.

I see the ghost of a smile before she turns away and heads back towards her rooms. Regrettably, I head towards the barracks, but my smile will not leave my face as I remember the tickle of her hair under my nose, and her warm slender fingers linked with mine. I want what I cannot have: I am thankful for these small, precious blessings.

* * *

The door to my office flies open and I half-expect to see Cassandra reprimand me for something about the mage recruits. I certainly do not expect to see Dorian in the doorway, his arms crossed.

"We need to have a little chat, Commander," the Tevinter mage says, kicking the door shut behind him.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Can it wait?" I ask, reluctant to break from the reports I'm writing.

"It most certainly _cannot_ wait," he says, crossing his arms.

I stand. "Alright, what is it?"

He has a small box in his hand and places it firmly on my desk. "I hear you're something of a chess champion in Skyhold. I challenge you to beat _me_."

I gawk at him. "You cannot be serious…?" This was the pressing issue that couldn't wait? And yet I'm not as angry as I ought to be. It is tempting to flex my chess muscles after so long without practicing.

A finger taps the box. "Oh I _am_ serious, Commander. I say that if you beat me at a game of chess, then I will tell you what our little Inquisitor _truly_ thinks of _you_ ," he teases with a smile.

I do my best to ignore the churn in my gut. What did he know? "And… why can't you just tell me?" I manage.

"Now where would be the fun in that? Come along - there's an excellent spot down in the herb garden where we can play and not be overhead." He flings the door open to the ramparts and waits expectantly.

Playing chess _would_ be a good way to relax and forget about responsibilities for a while, I concede.

I follow him out of my office and we walk through to Solas's circular tower. The elf glances up at us as we pass through, but remains silent, his brow furrowed. I ignore his eyes watching us as we head to the main hall, but there's something stirring in his expression that I hadn't seen before… contempt? I shake my head and follow Dorian to the garden.

There's a stone table and two chairs underneath the gazebo in the garden. I look around and see a few elves work with the herbs in large pots; see Chantry sisters and mothers take turns around the garden; glimpse a few nobles stroll around the edge. It's a peaceful place, despite being quite full of activity. Thankfully, tucked away in the gazebo, I'm less likely to be found by any of my soldiers or prying eyes. I'm reluctant to admit to myself that it will be a relief to escape for an hour or so.

Dorian sits opposite me and opens the box with a clink. I help him set up the table putting the pieces in place and we only say a few pleasantries.

"I'm really out of practice when it comes to chess," I say.

"All the more reason to play and give me a chance to best you!" he laughs.

"Hmm, and this blackmail technique?"

He ignores my comment. "You know what, _you_ can go first."

"Oh how kind." I move a pawn forward, and so our game begins.

I start the game competitively, and I'm suddenly struck by how easy it is to relax here. As Dorian mulls over any next move, I glance around the peaceful garden, this little green patch of heaven in the middle of the mountains; a hidden gem. I go to move a knight on the board, but I hesitate. Dorian is looking away, sheepishly.

"Interesting tactics," I smirk, moving my knight. I think back to my sister, Mia, and how she always used to try to cheat. Dorian's moves are predictable, and I find myself relaxing. I can get the information I want, but I can have fun doing it too. Now where's the harm in that.

"I don't think I've ever seen you smile when she's not around?" Dorian says.

"Hmm?" I'm hardly listening. Despite Dorian's attempts to cheat, he's doing it rather well.

"Lyla," he states.

"The Inquisitor?" I say distractedly. I cannot loose to a cheating chess player. My hand hovers over the board.

"Yes, Lyla Lavellan, the Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, and your new sparring partner."

Shit. "You know about that?" I say weakly, the game now forgotten.

"Oh, _I know_ ," Dorian says.

I take a breath: so _that's_ the reason why he wanted to play chess. "Look Dorian, if there's something between you and Ly… the Inquisitor," I correct myself. "Then I apologise. She just asked for a training partner and as the Commander, I happen to be a pretty good person to teach her."

We had sparred the last few mornings, but none of them had ended _quite_ the way the first one had. I have been determined to not let my emotions get the better of me again, and so I'm probably much harder and sterner on her than anyone else. But she does not complain and works hard: I am already impressed with her progress.

Dorian is laughing. I frown, which only seems to make him laugh harder, bending over and clutching his sides.

"Oh you _are_ precious!" he exclaims, wiping a tear from his eye, once his laughter subsides. "You think that Lyla and I are…ha!" He giggles again. "Dear Commander, I just want to make sure that you don't hurt our little Inquisitor."

"Hurt?" I repeat. "We can sometimes use wooden swords, if that puts your mind at ease…"

His laughter fades and a serious expression crosses his face. Finally he says softly: "I don't want my dearest friend getting hurt by you… because of her feelings _for_ you."

I am still as his words sink in. Her feelings for me? Slowly I say "…what do you know?"

He throws his hands up. "Oh no no no, I am saying no more. You've got to win this match before I say another word, remember?"

I grumble under my breath but try and return my focus to the game. But how can I concentrate now when his words about Lyla are running through my mind. Her feelings? Me? Maker's breath, I'm out of my depth. It's been far too long since I've felt anything like this.

Somehow I manage to best Dorian, despite his cheating techniques. I find that now I know that him and Lyla aren't romantically involved, I'm warming to him. I chuckle at the thought.

"Something funny?" he asks.

"If you had said to me eighteen months ago that I would be sat here playing chess with a Tevinter mage, I would've called you a liar," I say. I decide it's best to miss off the bit about my relief of him and Lyla being just friends.

Dorian fiddles with his moustache, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Indeed, who would've thought me - a mage - playing chess with you - an ex-Templar. I should be careful you don't start flirting with _me_ next, the way you seem to now be around a particular mage," he grins, looking over my shoulder with raised eyebrows.

I turn in my seat and Lyla is walking around the edge of the garden with Josephine. Neither of them have seen us, and are engrossed in a deep conversation. Josephine lets out a little trickle of laughter at something Lyla says and I smile warmly. How is it that she can bring so many people to like her and to make them feel at ease? I watch as Lyla links her arm with Josephine and point to the flowers as if she were some noble lady talking about nonsenses at the Orlesian court. Josephine in response is beaming at her with approval and pats her arm fondly. Her eyes slide to mine and she raises an eyebrow. Lyla turns and our eyes meet, but I swiftly swivel back in my seat and look back down at the chess table before anything else can happen. I feel warm under my armour and I rub the back of my neck, yet I am still smiling.

"Oh, to feel the excitement of love blossoming," Dorian sighs wistfully. "And look! I've just won the match. Tough luck Commander, you were doing so well."

I stare down at the board. He's right - he's beaten me. In the moments that I had been watching Lyla, he must've made an impossible move. Dorian cocks his head to the side.

"If only you hadn't been so distracted…"

I stand abruptly and glance over my shoulder, but Lyla and Josephine are gone. "This time tomorrow then - I will beat you," I say.

He inclines his head. "As you wish, Commander."

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading! Reviews are loved!**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

* * *

I'm pacing recklessly in my office, skimming reports and hardly listening to updates from my scouts. It's stuffy in the room and there are half a dozen Inquisition soldiers in my office each waiting to give me updates they believe can't wait. I beg to differ.

I glance out of the arrow-slit windows every so often, just to check if there's anyone approaching. My hands are shaking and I've got a pounding headache that feels as though it's right in front of my eyes. It's one of the worst I've had in months since I stopped taking lyrium, but I can't let my troops see me like this.

As I turn back to the soldiers, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and there's a call from one of the guards on the bridge. I swivel around and I'm relieved to see a the long-awaited party gallop across the viaduct, escorted with a small Inquisition force.

"The Inquisitor has returned," I announce to the room. "Let us adjourn for the day. Lieutenant: please see to any urgent matters," I say to the ex-Templar.

The room salutes me as I sweep out of the office and stand on the battlements above the main gate. For the first time all day I'm on my own, and yet I'm desperate to see her. It's not long before other Skyhold residents appear on the battlements and in the courtyard to see her return - it's always something to celebrate when she comes back safely and successfully. But I'm more anxious than ever to see her - my symptoms are terribly bad today and I know I have to tell her, as my superior.

I can't bear for her to see me as weak; falling apart in front of her. I need to be strong, to continue my duties… but I must let her know that it's a very real threat that at some point, I might not be able to remain as Commander. I clench my jaw and tighten my shaking hand on the hit of my sword - I must ensure it does not come to that. I will give _everything_ to the Inquisition because I believe in our cause - I believe in her.

As their horses slow to a gallop I notice an extra person in the party. Hawke rides side-by-side with Lyla, but just behind them is a figure I did not expect to see - a Grey Warden. I'm frozen to the spot as the Grey Warden lifts his head to look up at Skyhold's towers and there is no doubt in my mind when I recognise the honey hair of Warden Alistair.

 _Screams that echo. Pain in my mind. Burning. Fire. That familiar feeling of dread, awaiting the inevitable pain. Bodies rotting around me. I will not fall. I must not fall._

I don't realise how tight I'm gripping my sword until Lelianna appears beside me. "Cullen?" she says softly. I glance at her and release my grip, flexing my fingers. "Are you well?"

I exhale slowly, my eyes never once leaving Alistair as they approach. Another echo of my past I did not expect to see here, especially when my control is wavering. She peers up at me past her hood and follows my gaze. Lyla has reeled her horse back and now rides next to Alistair. They are speaking with their heads bowed and I'm anxious about their discussion. Everything I've been trying to hide and forget is coming together in this place where I want to move on.

They pass under the archway and I'm left staring at the now empty walkway. I realise with a start that I haven't replied to Lelianna.

"A headache, nothing more."

She shakes her head. "You did not expect to see Alistair, did you?"

"You could've warned me," I say dryly.

"To what end?" She replies and then sighs. "I'm sorry Cullen, I know that Alistair is-"

"You weren't in Kinlock, Lelianna. _He_ was." I turn on my heel and stride back into my office, leaving Lelianna and her unspoken words behind me.

I ensure all of the doors are shut - thankfully with the Inquisitor back, most soldiers will be busying themselves with report writing, meetings and scouting so won't need to bother me for a least an hour. I ease myself down into the chair at my desk and rub my eyes. Today is an awful day for my withdrawal - why could they not return tomorrow, when I'm feeling better? But I realise I'm being selfish: I was so full of anxious excitement to see Lyla again - and I still am - but now I'm wary. Alistair may have told her things about my past I'm not quite ready to share. It's personal. And if I remember Alistair, it's that he used to sometimes say the wrong thing at the wrong time, but with good intentions. Ah yes, _good intentions:_ don't we all have those?

I know I shouldn't, but I open my top desk draw and reach for the small box inside. Just to know that it is close but untouchable is almost a comfort. At least I know that if the worst happens, I have enough to start again, but I cannot let myself do that. I turn the box over in my hands for a small whilst before placing it down on the desk in front of me. My thumb plays with the latch subconsciously flicking it open and close again.

I stand and lean over the box - reassert why I'm doing what I'm doing. I'm trying to leave that life - that terrible life behind of who I used to be and yet this leash pulls at my, urging me back. There is a knock at the door and I swiftly store the box back in my desk.

"Enter," I say.

And there she is, still in her travelling gear, her boots caked in mud, her cheeks flushed from the journey. What a sight she is, and instantly I can feel my mood lift. The pull to her is stronger than the lyrium, but that is not a bad thing.

"Inquisitor," I say, straightening.

"You weren't at the debriefing," she says, closing the door behind her. "I was wondering where you were."

Maker's breath, have I been sat here wallowing in my guilt for that long? "I apologise Inquisitor I…" the words fail in my mouth as she approaches me - the desk the only distance between us. I'm sure if anyone else had missed the meeting, she would have had a stern talking to, and yet there is no anger or annoyance on her face, only concern. It worries me more - has Alistair told her anything? I push it from my mind.

"Inquisitor," I start again. "As leader of the Inquisition you… there's something I must tell you."

She nods and perches on the end of my desk. "You know what ever it is Cullen, I'm willing to listen."

I try not to gawk at her. "Right, thank you." I remember the lines of my speech I've been preparing. She needs to know - now is the time. I take a breath. "Lyrium grants Templars our abilities but it controls us as well. Those cut off from it suffer: some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here but I…" A deep breath. "I no longer take it." There. Said and done. She knows.

"You stopped?"

"When I joined the Inquisition," I admit. "It's been months now."

There's a strange silence, the air is thick. I think she's going to scold and turn away, but she remains still. I glance up briefly and she's looking down at her hands. "Cullen, if this can kill you…"

"I hasn't yet," I say bitterly. "After what happened in Kirkwall I… couldn't. I will not be bound to the Order or that life any longer." I look up at her and meet her gaze. "Whatever the suffering, I accept it: but I will not put the Inquisition at risk. I've asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty."

My hand rests on the hilt of my sword, my breath held. This will change everything, I know that. I adore this woman, and to be so openly honest about my weakness - Maker give me strength.

Eventually she says: "Are you in pain?"

"I can endure it," I reply stiffly. It's an answer I'm accustomed to giving to Lelianna and Cassandra.

"Well… thank you for telling me. I respect what you're doing."

"I… thank you Inquisitor. The Inquisition's army must always take priority. Should anything happen… I will defer to Cassandra's judgement."

"I trust Cassandra," Lyla says.

"As do I," I reply and we fall back into a strange silence.

I'm not sure if it's just the honest topic of lyrium or a mix of unspoken things, but for once I can see that it's not just me that's having an inner-turmoil of thoughts. Lyla is biting her lip and looking down at the paperwork on my desk. She turns her head to the side, to read something upside down. "Is this a report on the Red Templars?"

I nod, relieved to have moved in. I'm shaken from my lack of control today and the pain of it all, and yet knowing that Lyla now knows is a relief. One less thing to hide from her. One more thing to trust her in.

"Yes. I've found where the Red Templars come from: they're in Fall Redoubt." I begin to pace, focusing on the task at hand as we both slip back into the roles of the Commander and the Inquisitor. "The Templars were fed red lyrium until they are turned into monsters. Samson took over after their corruption was complete."

"How do you know Samson?"

"He was a Templar in Kirkwall until he was expelled form the Order. I knew he was an… _addict_ , but this…" There's a bitter taste in my mouth. "Red lyrium is nothing like the lyrium given by the Chantry. It's power comes with a terrible madness."

"The Red Templars swarming Haven were proof enough." She crosses her arms.

"We cannot allow them to gain strength. The Red Templars still require lyrium: so if we find their source, we can weaken them and their leader."

There's a whisper of a smile on her face. "I like the idea of finding the templar's vulnerabilities _before_ fighting them head-on."

"We'll need every advantage to what courses through their veins. Caravans of red lyrium are being smuggled along trade roads: investigating them could lead to where it's being mined. If you confront them, be wary… anything connected to Samson will be well guarded."

She mulls this over and slips off my desk. "You and this Samson seems to have a personal history…?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "When I arrived in Kirkwall, Samson and I shared quarters," I admit. "He seemed a decent man at first, but Knight-Commander Meredith later expelled Samson for 'erratic behaviour,' and he ended up begging on Kirkwall's streets and committee further crimes but managed to evade the Order's justice." I'm pacing again and I can feel her eyes watching my every move. "Now Samson serves Corephyoues as his loyal general."

"Why do you think Samson joined Corepheyeous?"

"He had a chronic lyrium addiction. He spent every last coin buying it from local smugglers. Perhaps Corephyeous flattered his vanity, gave him purpose as well as lyrium? Perhaps that's all it took…" I trail off, trying not to think about how that could so easily could've been me. Still could be me…

"It sounds like Samson had a miserable life."

I pause for thought. "Well the Order expelled him but he had choices and could've found another path. I don't understand how he became so powerful: even with red lyrium Samson's glory days are long behind him."

Lyla spreads her hands. "I'm heading out to the Emerald Graves in the next fortnight, so I'll see what I can find."

"Just be careful," I say without thinking. _Be careful_? Did I just tell the Inquisitor to be careful? Maker's breath…

She throws me a mischievous smile. "Oh, you know me - always careful." She turns to leave but hesitates at the doorway, her hand on the latch. "As long as you're alright…?"

I can feel my face warm. "Ah, yes, thank you… Lyla."

Satisfied, she smiles again and leaves me alone. Somehow I resist every temptation to call her back.

* * *

"It's your move, Commander."

I frown at the board in front of me, scrutinising every possible option. Once again Dorian's skill at cheating is almost going to beat me, but thankfully I've been determined to take this one a little more seriously. Dorian's bait of saying more about Lyla is working, but it's not easy with his smug grin across the board.

I move a piece to my left, knowing that he now has two options - one of which will result in me winning. Dorian raises his eyebrows and sits back, a finger lazily twirling his moustache. I think he knows that whatever he does, I have certainly won this match. But I hide my glee by trying to neutralise my expression as much as possible…

He moves the piece and instantly I lean forward and take it. "And that is checkmate," I grin.

"Well played, Commander. A shame no-one was here to distract you this time."

I roll my eyes and stifle a yawn. "You only won last time because you cheated."

"Oh you wound me!" he chuckles as he stands. "Come - there's something I need to discuss with you in my library."

Curiously I follow him out of the garden and through the main hall. I glance to the dais as we pass where Lyla is sitting in judgment of some petitioners with Josephine. I pause as she rubs her eyes before looking back to who she's judging. It is then I see the bags under her eyes and they way she is slouched in the overbearing throne. Concern tugs at me as I see her tired face scan the hall, not really listening - it's clear she's exhausted.

And when her eyes fall on me I can't help but grin at her when she smiles, almost shyly. Despite the hundreds of people in the hall clustered around her, she is seeing over their heads to look only at _me_ , and for now it feels as if we are the only people here. It pulls at me so much that I want to push through and just be face-to-face with her. To say my thanks and gratitude for her understanding. To tell her that I care, and that I must know if she does too. But I find that even if she doesn't, I do not mind… as long as she knows that I care and always will.

Josephine looks to the Inquisitor and follows her line of sight to rest on me also. I rub the back of my neck and reluctantly turn away, giving Lyla an apologetic shrug. She licks her lips and looks down at her hands resting in her lap.

"When you're quite finished…?" Dorian whispers impatiently next to me. I nod and indicate for him to lead the way, my face burning.

As we head to the door for Solas's rooms, the elf himself stands in the doorway watching me. Dorian and I both stop and it's a strange moment as Solas's eyes flick to Lyla on the throne and back to me again. His expression is, as ever, completely unreadable. I try not to think about what his casual observance means, but there is defiantly something unspoken here and it's starting to grate on me. Thankfully, Dorian steps forward before I say anything stupid.

"Excuse us!" he says cheerily.

A flicker of amusement before Solas inclines his head and steps aside. Without a word, Dorian and I pass him and head straight upstairs to the library and his nook by the window overlooking Skyhold. I stand by a book shelf as Dorian reclines on his chair.

"Well that was awkward," he mumbles.

I rest my hand on the hilt of my sword. "Is there something I'm missing?" I say.

"Apart from the fact that he's an apostate and you're an Ex-Templar, you mean?" Dorian quips.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again. "Aside form that, yes."

Dorian, pauses. "I have absolutely no idea," he says finally. "Look Commander, you're not the only one who is pining after our Inquisitor."

"Pining?" I groan. Has he been talking to Cassandra? Curse them both.

"Yes, pining. I can see it in a man's eyes, you see. Blackwall's the worst but even so… it seems to be _you_ that she's pining after herself."

I look down at the floor. Is this what I won the chess match for? To be humiliated and teased by the Tevinter mage?

"But all joking aside, there is something I need to tell you," Dorian continues quietly. I glance over my shoulder, but the nook is so secluded that nobody would overhear us.

"Alright," I say cautiously.

Dorian takes a breath. "Back in Redcliffe, when we went through time to that awful future?" I nod, confused. "Well, there are things that we saw that I'm pretty sure Lyla left out of her report. and yet… I think you need to hear it. Perhaps it's not my place to say, but you ought to know."

I still. This is not what I was expecting. It's because awfully serious, and now I can see why Lyla trusts in this Tevinter mage so much. He may be infuriating, but it's clear he values his friends and their loyalties above all else. I'm surprised as I find myself warming to him again.

"What is it, Dorian?" I ask quietly.

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "It was just Lyla and I who saw this 'bad future', but we were not the only ones there. I think she may have mentioned that we saw Lelianna, Cassandra and Sera sacrifice themselves for our escape?" I nod. "Well, they weren't the only ones who we met in the bad future… we also saw you."

I'm puzzled, and perhaps it shows on my face as he says: "hmm yes, I thought she might've left that off the report."

"Why would she leave that out?" I ask, bewildered.

He hesitates. "Do you really want to know?"

I think back to her reports of finding the other women in the dungeons and how the red lyrium had covered the castle, like a growing tumour. I'm reluctant to know but if I don't ask, I know that I will always be wondering. Finally I nod. "Yes, please continue."

Dorian sighs and looks out of the window. "We explored nearly all of the dungeons of Redcliffe castle and the last place we looked before we found Lelianna, we found you. You were in a cramped cell on your own, and the red lyrium was growing out of the walls. You were slumped by the bars of the cell and your hair was long and knotted. We didn't recognise you at first, until you croaked out her name."

He pauses, the memories of visiting the terrible future are clearly still very fresh in his mind. I can't even begin to imagine what it would've been like. The thought of red lyrium growing through stone… I suppress a shudder.

"Lyla rushed over to you and tried to break the lock on your cell, but the red lyrium had grown through the locks and it was impossible to open. The lyrium, like with Grand Enchanter Fiona, was growing _out_ of you - you were paralysed in place. Yet despite this, Lyla knelt by you and wrapped her fingers with yours around the bars of the cells. And she… ah, perhaps I should say no more…" Dorian trails off.

"Dorian," I say quietly. "Please continue, if you can."

He nods slowly. "She tried everything to get you out, but we were running out of time and we needed to move. Lyla knew that she had to leave you and it tore her apart. If she had been upset about seeing her closest friends imprisioned, she barley showed it, and kept strong. But when she knew that she couldn't save you, she was crying. Can you imagine? Our tough little Inquisitor crying… no, _sobbing,_ as she kissed your broken fingers. I had to practically drag her away as we left you there.

"Your future self whispered something to her before we left. I don't know what she said to you… and I'm glad I don't know. Perhaps you can ask her one day."

I am completely still. Of all of my nightmares in the Fade at night, what her and Dorian went through is more real than anything I could even begin to dream of. I've watched her die in my sleep many times now, but to actually live through that and come out on the other side? Her resolve astounds me and yet I feel nothing but guilt.

"When… when she came back," I manage to say. "I argued with her about recruiting the mages."

Dorian nods. "Yes, not the best move, was it? She was furious at you for days."

"I… I had no idea."

We are silent as I mull over this latest revelation. Surely we face something so terrible and worse than imagined if this had happened. What more could we expect to face and defeat?

Dorian shifts in his seat. "It turns out you had assaulted the castle with the Inquisition's armies at least three times before they caught you. Can't say you didn't go without a fight."

I almost smile at that. Of course - even though the castle was impenetrable, there's no way I would not try, if there was the possibility she was alive inside. I scold myself at my future-self's recklessness. It would be a losing battle but I know that I would do it in a heartbeat if there was a chance to save her, or even see her again.

"Thank you, Dorian," I eventually say. He smiles faintly before turning to a book. I head back to my office deep in thought, wondering how I'm going to be able to look at her again, let alone speak to her.

* * *

 _ **Reviews are loved, thank you!**_


	15. Chapter 15

**_Chapter Fifteen_**

* * *

 _Dear Mia,_

 _Life in Skyhold has become more like a home than any other place since I left to join the Templars. There are daily routines: the guard rotation, war meetings, report writing and such, but there are times where I sit and practice chess with a friend (who's a mage from Tevinter - who would've thought?). I walk along the battlements everyday, just to get the fresh air, and not because I have to patrol. I have the most incredible sparring partner who I meet every morning, unless she is away on a mission. For the first time in a very long time, I seem to belong and have a sense of purpose. I also believe in something - and someone - which I believe will change the world._

 _That sounds quite dramatic, doesn't it? I know you will laugh about it, but I honestly believe it's true. The Inquisition is becoming a force to be reckoned with. And with that power, I think we are all becoming more aware at what's at stake. There are things I cannot begin to understand - mages dabbling with time, an archdemon, and that's only the tip of the iceberg. The Inquisition has grown and I'm becoming anxious that it could all be lost with one small mistake - I cannot let what happened in Haven happen here. This is home now._

 _I find myself relishing every moment, particularly when she is around. Our dawn training sessions fill me with a nervous excitement; it's silly really. But I can't help think that maybe she cares for me? And if she does, what does that mean…?_

 _You would like her, Mia. She's almost as stubborn as you and always sees the best in people - even me. Although, I don't think she realises how broken I am. And yet, when I'm with her, things feel like they are starting to mend. I think I'm healing, and then she will be away for weeks at a time on a mission and I'll forget that elation I feel when I see her. My mind plays tricks - it wants me to take the lyrium, to be stronger._

 _But when she returns, and she's just around Skyhold, I feel more secure and more in control of that pull. I am drawn to her instead. And, at the moment, she doesn't seem to mind._

 _I've rambled enough. Perhaps you will meet her one day. I would like that._

I re-read the letter at least three times before I tear it up. I'm sat in the tavern at Skyhold - Herald's Rest. It's bigger than the tavern at Haven, with three floors, and on the top floor, I can sneak in through the battlements, unnoticed. I haven't been down to the ground floor yet, to the bar, but I am sat in the middle, at a table by the railing, where I can look down and see all who come up the stairs.

I am, of course, dressed in my civvies. Iron Bull and his Chargers occupy a corner of the tavern below, and I'm reluctant to be noticed by them and drawn into drinking something awful called 'Dragon's Piss'. But I'm distracted from the torn letter in my hands when the door below opens and there's a cheer from Bull and his Chargers. I peer down and see Lyla stride into the tavern, her hair messy from her ride back to Skyhold. I hadn't even heard the call for her arrival, so I'm startled to see her.

From my vantage point, I watch as she approaches Bull, a hand on her hip in mock reprimand, a large smile on her face. She takes a horn of ale and downs it quickly, getting the chargers to stamp their feet and hoot with approval. Lyla coughs the last bit and I can't help but smile when she raises the horn in the air and demands another. I try not to think that she's just returned from the Emerald Graves, and will have news on Samson. She needs to relax, and I'm pleased she can, whilst also raising morale with the troops.

After her second horn of ale, she sits on the floor by the fire and starts to speak to the bard, Maryden. I'm amazed again by how easily everyone appears to open up to her. Maryden is smiling and idly tunes her instrument, whilst Lyla asks questions with genuine interest. Lyla stands up and jogs to the bar, right beneath where I'm sat and she glances up, pausing. I lean back so she doesn't see me, but a wry smile plays on her lips before she disappears underneath and I think I may have been too slow. Part of me wants her to see me sat here, although what I would say…

Lyla returns with two goblets of wine - one for her and one for Maryden. They stand and chat a little longer and Lyla occasionally glances up to where I'm sat. I'm tempted to move - now would be the time to leave, but I'm reluctant to leave the warm tavern. My office is cold and dark and lonely, and here it is cosy, welcoming and, well, she is here.

Maryden taps her goblet of wine with her fingers, making it ring out for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted that the Inquisitor will be singing a duet with me."

Now I know I _should_ go, but my curiosity burns and my stomach - is that excitement? Maker help me… The patrons inside the tavern are clapping and Lyla stands next to Maryden and they look at each other, whispering a few words before Maryden strums the first chords and begins:

 _"Find me still searching  
_ _For someone to lead me  
_ _Can you guide me  
_ _To the revolt inside me_

 _Promise  
_ _Surviving  
_ _The Breach"_

There's a natural break in the music, and then Lyla continues, her voice light, crisp and clear, silencing the whole tavern as she sings:

 _"Promise  
_ _Surviving  
_ _The Breach  
_ _In the sky"_

She smiles and looks up at me, directly. As the verse starts, she closes her eyes.

 _"Templar  
_ _Igniting  
_ _Fire inside me_

 _Maker  
_ _Remind me  
_ _Gone are the days  
_ _Of our peace"_

Their voices join together, as Lyla does the harmony with Maryden the tune:

 _"Now we reside  
_ _In the great divide_

 _No promise  
_ _Surviving  
_ _The Breach  
_ _In the sky"_

The simple chords close the song and applause breaks out. Maryden begins another tune and Lyla joins in after sipping her wine. I am entranced, and I try not to think of what the words she sung mean.

 _"Templar  
_ _Igniting  
_ _Fire inside me"_

My ears are ringing with her voice, and I'm falling, but I let myself. I know I've got a lazy smile on my face as I watch her sing a more lively tune about her friend Sera, of whom she pulls up off a seat and begins dancing with her. Lyla's dancing is light and elegant, but she looses hr balance sometimes, making her laugh joyful and Sera picks fun and sticks her tongue out. Others begin to dance and the mood has become so improved since she walked in, and reminded them that she is a person who needs to relax too, even if she is the Inquisitor.

I rise slowly and take my leave, wanting to avoid any unnecessary dancing on my part. But the song she sang is still echoing in my mind as I lie in bed and fall into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The following afternoon, I realise I'm humming that very tune as I sit opposite Dorian in the garden. His eyebrows are raised so high, I'm not sure they can go any higher.

"Never imagined you as a singer," Dorian remarks, moving a pawn forward.

I shrug. "Quite the contrary - Templar training required daily singing of various Chants."

"Although perhaps not folk tunes?" he grins mischievously.

I give him a look over the chessboard. "You know too much, Dorian," I say.

"I know," he says smugly.

"Well gloat all you like, I have this one," I say, moving a piece on the board, turning our attention back to the game at hand.

"Are you _sassing_ me, Commander? I didn't know you had it in you."

I sigh. "Why do I even - Inquisitor!" I stumble, rising to my feet. Lyla leans on the side of the gazebo, her arms folded but her head tilted to the side in amusement.

"Leaving are you?" Dorian smirks. "Does this mean I win?"

I sit back down, ignoring Lyla's eyes on me. "Are you two playing nice?" she says playfully.

Dorian looks at me before answering. "Oh, I'm _always_ nice." He smirks again. "You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory, you'll feel much better."

He moves a piece in the perfect position I had baited for him. "Really?" I say. "Because I just won. And I feel fine," I chuckle and lean back in my chair.

"Don't get smug: there'll be no living with you," he looks at me knowingly and glances at Lyla before standing. and then - I cannot believe it - he does the same to Lyla by giving her a look and then glancing at me! I curse Dorian: he could be a _little_ more subtle, right?

I look at Lyla. "I… really ought to get back to my duties as well… unless you would care for a game…?"

"Prepare the board, Commander," she smiles. I try to ignore the way she lowered her voice to say it. It was an intimate, attractively playful voice that makes my hands clammy. I move the pieces into place as she sits opposite me.

"As I child I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won - which was _all_ the time." I smile at the memory of sitting with Mia at the kitchen table, the scruffy board between us and Rosie peering over and knocking pieces down. Such simple times, I muse. Brandon would stand at my elbow and nudge my hand whenever Mia looked away. "My brother and I practised together for weeks. The look on her face when I finally won…" Oh, that was a good day: Brandon and I had been the worst winners, by being all but tormenting to Mia as she acted very unlike her by pouting and ignoring us for the rest of the day. It had been worth it, though.

My smile fades. "Between serving with the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays…" I say aloud, more to myself than to her. I move a pawn and sit back.

An elven servant appears by us. "Would you care for a drink, Lady Inquisitor?"

"Oh, yes please; how about two goblets of mulled wine?" she says, looking to me. I smile and nod.

"Right away, my Lady Inquisitor; Commander," she bows her head and scurries off.

"You have siblings?" Lyla prompts when the servant returns with two warm sweet-smelling goblets.

"Two sisters and a brother."

"Where are they now?" She moves a pawn on the board. Now it is just us in this sheltered corner of the garden.

I relax - it's so easy to with her around. "They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write them as often as I should," I admit. I think of the hundreds of letters I've written to Mia which had all ended up ripped to shreds and tossed into fires, never to be read. "Ah, it's my turn." I hum and move a piece, realising far too late that I'm once again humming the tune to the song Lyla had sung with Maryden last night. If she notices, she doesn't pick up on it.

"You should keep in practice for when you see your sister again," she says. I chuckle and we fall into a companionable silence. Occasionally we speak of nonsensical things, such as the herbs growing the in the garden, Josephine's insistence on soiree's at Skyhold or simply little things we used to discuss at Haven, down by the lake.

Finally, I say: "This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition - or related matters." I don't realise I'm leaning forward, my elbows on the table until she does the same. She is close enough that I can feel her warm breath when she chuckles. "To be honest, I appreciate the distraction," I continue.

Her head tilts to the side. "We should spend more time together."

Words fail in my mouth as she looks directly at me. "I… would like that," I say. I would more than simply like that, but I bite my tongue.

She does not hesitate, watching me as she says: "Me too."

My chest tightens and I look down. I know I'm smiling like a fool, but Maker, let me have this moment. "You said that," I say quietly, almost in disbelief. She's looking at me through her thick lashes: she clearly leaves the door open on the board for me to take an advantage. It's such a clear move to let me win, I pause for thought - relishing the sound of her words. "We should… finish our game." I say lamely. "Right. My turn?"

She sits back in her seat and smiles, taking a sip of mulled wine. I test my theory that she's letting me win, by moving another piece in place which she could very easily take and gain the upper hand. She does not, and instead moves a pawn, ready for the taking. However, when there is no other way for me to move on the board except when to call checkmate, I concede, knowing that this match has finally come to an end.

I cross my arms and smile. "And this one's mine."

Lyla reclines, throwing her hands up in mock defeat. "It seems luck favoured you today!"

I lean forward, resting my chin on my hands. "So it has," I mumble. I can't help but smile. How true her words are. The most time we've spent together not training, not discussing the Inquisition but actually talking: conversing as two people.

My wine is untouched, but Lyla finishes hers and stands. "I ought to get ready - I promised Josephine I would attend a Soiree this evening with a few Orlesian nobles." She pulls a face.

"I do not envy you," I say.

"How have you managed to get out of it?" she demands, a hand on her hip.

I laugh. "I am conveniently in an important meeting this evening and-"

She rolls her eyes. "You liar! You were going to hide here and play chess with Dorian again!"

I stand, rubbing the back of my neck. "What can I say - Orlesian politics are anything but desirable."

She tugs her hair behind her eyes. It really has grown out from when we first met at the conclave. "Look, if I'm not out here ready for a rematch by the ninth hour - _please_ come and rescue me," she says.

"I didn't think you need rescuing," I tease.

"Only by you," she quips, before a silence falls between us. It's that strange, expectance sort of silence where we're both holding back unspoken words. I try to break the tension and sweep into my biggest mocking bow, with all the flourishes.

"As you wish, my lady."

She laughs, a hand on my arm, before walking away, her hips swaying. I watch her disappear into the main hall, rubbing my neck raw at our exchange.

* * *

True to my word, I sit at the gazebo and set up a match but she does not appear. With much reluctance, I get to my feet and head through the garden towards Josephine's office. The main hall is surprisingly empty tonight, and nobody pauses to stop me with paperwork or anything of the like as I approach the shut door. They must all be at the Soiree.

Without knocking, I open the door and peer in. The room is packed, and I wonder why they didn't just move to the main hall. I slip inside, looking around the room for a familiar face amongst the Orlesian nobles in their exquisite masks. I feel terribly out of place in my armour, but before I back away, Lelianna is at my side and links her arm with mine.

"Smile, Commander," she whispers, bringing me closer into the room and through nobles. "Many of these are interested in your lineage."

I try to keep my face passive, less I receive a scolding from Lelianna. Maker's _breath_ , I'm out of my depth here. The smell of strong liquor fills my nostrils and I realise that everyone here is slowing becoming drunk, but in a more sophisticated manner.

"We've already had a few scandals this evening - wrong looks given to the wrong people," Lelianna tells me excitedly. "But no-one is making the evening as memorable as the Inquisitor."

Lelianna leads me towards Josephine's desk and from here we stop and look about the room. I see Josephine perched on the sofa next to a noble lord… but leaning against the mantlepiece is Lyla, although I scarcely recognise her. Lyla's hair is completely down and unbound, her thick blonde hair cascading past her shoulders. She tugs it idly behind her ear as she takes a sip of wine, before smiling politely at the noble next to Josephine, who compliments her. But it's her outfit I am taken by - her deep green dress hangs handsomely on her lithe body and I know I'm staring at her up and down; from the belt around her narrow waist to the material bunched around her upper arms, leaving her slender neck and shoulders bare. The rich satin falls down to the floor, pooling around her feet. It's a simple garment that reveals much and is clearly not practical.

"She's caused quite a stir," Lelianna murmurers.

"I-I can see why," I manage, my stomach in knots.

Then Lyla looks up towards me a Lelianna, and her face brightens. She smiles and excuses herself from Josephine and the nobles around her and makes her way towards us. My mouth is dry and the room is warm and stuffy as, with her eyes on me, she winds her way through the nobles to stand before me.

"I need some air," she says to Lelianna. "Commander - have you heard back from the captain? I saw his entourage arrive before the soiree," she lies smoothly. I nod and follow along.

"Yes, if I can borrow your time for a moment, Inquisitor?"

"Of course."

Lelianna frowns but nods when Lyla apologises, handing her cup to a passing servant. She leads me out between the nobles and finally we are back in the main hall. There are still a few nobles here so Lyla links her arm with mine, as if I am escorting her like a lord. I smile sheepishly as we pass a few nobles and head out via Solas's empty room, along the battlements. The promise of chess is all forgotten as I cherish this moment of our arms linked, walking side by side. It feels so right, so comfortable.

"Perhaps we can take walk along the battlements?" she says. "I thought we could talk - alone."

"Alone?" I repeat blankly. "Ah - I mean, of course."

I nod as we pass trough my office and turn to the left, to the more secluded battlements which have barely been touched. It's near the stables but other than that, only myself and a few guards use this area of the castle. Our pace slows and I realise that we are alone - totally - and I wonder why we are here.

We walk slowly, neither of us willing to break the comfortable silence. But I know that something must be said… "It's a nice evening," I say lamely, rubbing the back of my neck, my face warming.

"What?" she says, distractedly, looking over the battlements at the frozen lake below.

"It's…" I hesitate, carefully unlinking her arm with mine. "There was something you wish to discuss?"

She hesitates and I am amazed when her cheeks turn pink and she cannot meet my eyes. Finally, she says hurriedly. "Cullen, I care for you and-ah…" she sighs. There is no smile, but rather her brows are furrowed with concern.

"What's wrong?" I breathe. She cares for me… she just said she cares for _me_ , but something is not quite what it seems. I ignore the fire burning in my gut.

She tries again. "You… left the Templars but… you trust mages?" Her courage growing she adds: "Could you think of me as anything more?"

I reply immediately: "I could-I mean I-I do…think of you…and what I might say in this sort of situation…" I rub my eyes. Maker, why is this so hard? Why am I even worthy to have this conversation with this most incredible woman? Does she not see that I am breaking with lyrium withdrawal?

Instead she leans back against the battlements, so I am all she sees when she looks at me. I look down at her as her hand playfully traces the stone walls. "What's stopping you?" she says softly.

"I-you're the Inquisitor," I say. "We're at war." I'm stepping closer to her, her lips are parted, and I am looking down at them, wanting to kiss her now, here, under the moonlight more than anything. "And you…" Her head is tilted and her eyes flicker down to my mouth. I can feel her breath tickle my chin, my hands coming to rest on her slender hips. "I didn't think it was possible..." I trail off. This is it - she knows I care, I can almost taste her.

She shrugs a bare shoulder at me and smiles. "And yet I'm still here."

"So you are," I murmur. "It seems too much to ask, but I want to…" I lean in, our noses brushing as we close the distance between us-

"Commander!"

 _Fuck_. I freeze, her eyes fly open and she turns her head away. One of my scouts, Jim, is making his way towards us, a report in his hand which he's reading. Clearly unaware of this moment - this _blissful_ moment…

"You wanted a copy of Sister Lelianna's report."

I pull my hands from Lyla and turn on the young man. " _What_ ," I growl to the poor messenger. Is this Lelianna's way of poking fun?

"Sister Lelianna's report," Jim repeats. "You wanted it delivered without delay?"

I glare at him, willing him to _bugger off_. Jim glances over my shoulders and must see Lyla. Well, this isn't going to stay private for long. He glances between us before stammering "Or… to y-your office r-right." He scampers away not daring to look back.

"Cullen, if you need to-" Lyla beings but I turn and silence her, my mouth crashing on hers, a small, surprised moan escaping her lips. I cup her face in my hands. No way am I going to let this moment pass: never in a million years will I get this opportunity again. At first she is shocked and I think to pull away, scolding my brashness... but then she deepens the kiss, and I feel her hands on my arms and I relax, committing every moment to my memory - the taste of strawberries, the hint of wine on her lips from the soiree, the way she is arching her back and tilting her head up.

Finally we break off and I know I'm breathing hard, but her breath is ragged too. "I'm s-sorry," I stammer. "That was um… really nice," I admit smiling awkwardly.

"I believe that was a kiss… but I can't be sure, it was all a blur," she smirks, her head tilted to the side.

I laugh, closing the distance. "Yes, well…" we kiss again, more hesitantly this time. I close my eyes my hands tracing up and down her back wanting more than anything to touch the skin underneath the thin material of the dress. It's an incredible sensation when the woman I adore kisses me back, her fingers getting lost in my hair, her other hand gripping the fabric by my waist. I pray that this is not a dream, that this is real - Maker, please may this be real.

I almost expect to wake up any moment, but I don't. Being here, being entwined with Lyla. I let my hands cup her face again, thread my fingers through her hair, wishing I had taken my gloves off. She shivers beneath me and I pull away. I notice that she's shivering.

"Are you cold?" I ask.

She smiles, almost shyly. "A little."

Without thinking, I unclasp my fur shrug and wrap it around her shoulders. She inhales deeply as it envelopes her and I lean in to kiss her again at the sight of her wearing my fur shrug. I feel her smile under my kiss and I smile too, before chuckling quietly. She leans back in my arms and looks up, resting a cool hand on my cheek.

"Cullen," she says, her green eyes warm.

"Lyla," I say simply, smiling. It's going to take a lot to get this smile off my face.

She chews her lip. "I should… I should really get back to the Soiree…"

I nod, her words bringing me back to reality. I hold out my arm to her, which she takes gratefully. We walk back the way we came, and yet so much has changed. I cannot take my eyes off her as we make our way towards the main hall, and occasionally she looks at me and flashes the most brilliant smile before laughing again; her laughter trickling around the now-empty main hall. Outside the door to Josephine's rooms, we stop and look at one another.

"I cannot believe-" I begin.

"Neither can I," she sighs, resting the palms of her hands on the chest piece of my armour. I kiss her forehead, but she leans up and kisses me squarely on the mouth, all hesitation, all shyness gone. I resist the urge to pull her back when she steps away.

Turning, her hand on the door latch, she throws me one last smile over her shoulder and steps back into the party, leaving me standing in the main hall, my mouth raw, my stomach flipping and my heart racing... and missing one fur shrug.

* * *

 ** _Long chapter for you - lots happened, so I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. You can listen to the song in the DA:I soundtrack called 'Rise'._**

 ** _As always, reviews loved and keep me going!_**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

I step out onto the battlements and rub my hands together. There's a crisp breeze this morning and the tips of my fingers are numb despite the leather gloves. It's not yet dawn and the whole keep is silent apart from the sound of my footsteps on the flagstones, a bay from a horse in the stables and the cool breeze rustling the trees. I inhale the fresh air and stride to the training ground, but as I reach the bottom step, my resolve breaks and I hesitate.

My mind takes me back to the night before and my face warms. Sleep had been hard to find, more so than usual, but the withdrawal seems less today, the song is quieter. But I hesitate at the steps because she is already in the training ground, twirling a steel short sword in her left hand, her staff held aloft with her right. She licks her lips, her eyes not leaving the straw dummy as she spins on the spot before slashing it on the side. Light steps as she dances around it and I step closer. I'm amused that she hasn't noticed that I'm here, so I continue to watch. One, two, I can hear her count under her breath. I lean against the fence and I'm not watching her technique, but I'm watching her. I let myself.

It is a strange sensation to be looking at another person and realising that they mean so much to you. It's unusual for me to think that I care about this elven woman so much, that when I look at her, I think it's just us two in the whole world. It sounds silly, but when we look at each other, I truly believe it. I know I love her, but I cannot say it. I am torn between wanting this incredible new experience to continue and never end, but I must not hurt her. I'm broken inside, and whilst she is healing me already, I'm afraid of what it could mean if I have unbearable withdrawal. She does not know my past. She does not know that if I had met her Kirkwall or at the Circle, that I would not see her as I do now. It's… it's an awful thought. I push it out of my mind.

Lyla is so entranced in her training that it is a good few minutes until she finally turns and sees me. We look at each other and I rub the back of my neck. "Hi," I say quietly.

"Hi," she replies, a shy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

It's a strange silence. We're looking at one another like we're different people. But everything changed last night, I know that. I don't know what this is but I dare not utter my conflicting thoughts. Instead, I pick up a longsword propped against the fence.

"Ready to train?" I finally say.

She nods in reply and we fall back into the same dance we've been doing for weeks now. Not just the training, but the careful looks at one another, the bated breaths, the familiar hesitancy. We train harder than normal and once again I'm impressed with her progress. It won't be long until we start training with the magical sword.

"Higher - try to block it higher. Use your legs for strength, not just your arms," I call out to Lyla as she blocks my sword above her head. Her steel meets mine and she is breathless, her chest heaving as she uses her right arm to push my blade away. Then she summons her sword of magic in her right hand, lets go of my sword, spins on the spot so both meet my blade in the air, the steel ringing and the magic sword hissing as they meet.

"Like that?" she grins.

I stare back, speechless. "Just like that."

We stop and I hand her a water-skin, which she takes from me, drinking greedily, the water trickling down her chin and neck. I try not to look, but then I remember our heated kisses on the battlements, and I let myself again. She sees me looking, and my face warms, but she just smiles and closes the distance between us, extinguishing her magical sword.

Resting her hand on my chest, right above my heart, she stands on her toes and kisses my nose. "Thank you," she smiles.

I snake my arms around her, pulling her closer and lean down to kiss her. I know I will never, ever get tired of this as her back arches in response, our swords dropping to the ground with a clatter. It is a relief to show her that I care, that she knows I care. And to have her actually care about me? Maker, it's been a long time. Lyla pulls away and tilts her head to the side.

"I think you've still got my fur shrug, by the way," I grin.

She blushes prettily. "Oh, about that. I don't think any of the Orlesian nobles missed that I returned to the Soiree with it."

"I guess people will find out sooner rather than later."

Lyla smiles and picks up our swords from the ground, passing mine back to me, ready for another match. As we pace around each other, I know I'm completely distracted by the taste of her on my mouth, the way she moves - sparing with her is going to be impossible now - I know she will always best me.

She swivels on the spot and summons the magic blade again, ducking when I swing over her head. "The Commander of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste," she pants between steps. "That… will have people talking."

I side-step her magic sword and block with my shield. "You wouldn't believe how quickly gossip spreads through the barracks," I grumble, trying to ignore her stomach flashing as she expertly leans backwards to avoid my sword.

An unexpected lunge to my left makes almost catches me off guard, and she knows it. "Does it bother you?" she says, before she lunges.

I feint to the right. "I would rather my - our - private affairs remain that way," I correct myself. She laughs as I lose my balance, almost landing on the ground. I focus my strength on my unbalanced legs, and recover. "But if there were nothing here for people to talk about, I would regret it more," I admit. She swivels and I expect to block high, but instead it's a low sweep she makes and I jump over her blade but this time I do completely lose my balance and land on the ground.

She stands over me smiling as she reaches her hand down. I grin and take it, but instead of letting her pull me up, I pull her down to the ground with me and she lands half on top of me with a surprised "Oh!"

I laugh, brush some strands of hair out of her face and kiss her softly. I know any one of my recruits or any of her inner circle could walk out at any moment and see us lying on the ground, but I am past the point of caring now. She is here, with me. With me.

"When you kissed me last night on the battlements," she says quietly. "How long had you wanted to do that?" Her head is cocked to the side.

I laugh at her directness. "Longer than I should admit."

She smiles and taps my chest, looking down, almost shy. "The fact that I'm Dalish… it never bothered you?"

My thumb traces the delicate vallaslin on her cheeks. "I hadn't even considered. Elves weren't treated differently in the Circles I served… I didn't think what it might mean to you. I hope that doesn't - I mean, does it bother you?" My stomach tightens. Maker, how could I be so selfish-

"No. If you care for me then that's all that matters," she interrupts my thoughts. "I wasn't trying to put you on the spot."

I look away. "I'm not very good at this, am I." Guilt tugs at me - of course, she's an elf from a Dalish clan. If we… if she were to want to stay with me, then she would never be allowed to return. I don't voice my concern.

Smiling, she shakes her head again and I pull her into a long kiss, treasuring every single moment as she responds by kissing me back. Her taste is intoxicating and I try not to think what it would be like to have her completely to myself, if there were no war on. If there were no responsibilities, but just us…

"If this is how every sparring match ends, then sign me up!"

"Dorian!" Lyla yelps, jumping to her feet. I swiftly follow, brushing myself down, Lyla doing the same.

Dorian leans against a post by the sparring ring, his arms crossed and his face sporting a very smug grin. I clench my jaw, my face warm. Well this is just great.

"Oh, don't mind me! Sorry I interrupted…"

Lyla recovers quicker than me, her hands on her hips. "Don't you dare say one word, Dorian Pavus."

I look down at Lyla. "I should probably wake the recruits for their training," I say.

"Alright. I'll see you at the war table later." She stands on her tiptoes and pecks me on the cheek before walking away with Dorian, who is whispering excitedly to her. I don't try to hide my grin as I stride away towards the barracks.

* * *

When I walk into the war room later that day, I know I've interrupted a conversation between the ambassador and spymaster. They pause in their whispers as I enter; wry smiles on their faces. A sense of dread washes over me as I take my position in between them at the war table as we await the Inquisitor.

"Good afternoon, Commander," Josephine says sweetly. "Such a shame you could not stay at the Soiree last night!"

Before I can answer, Leliana pipes up. "Indeed - you caused quite a stir during your brief appearance."

"I doubt that," I say flatly, reaching for a report from Scout Harding.

I don't miss the look that passes between the two women. "Well, you will have to attend my next soiree. It's going to be bigger, better and will most likely be in the main hall. There will be music and dancing…" Josephine trails off wistfully.

"Count me out," I grumble. I can, in all honesty, think of nothing worse.

"But-" Josephine begins before the doors are pushed open and Lyla steps in, saving me from this humiliation.

Part of me is concerned how we can work together, almost as if nothing has happened between us, even though so much has changed. She flicks me a brief smile to each of us, but my heart lifts when hers gaze lingers on me. I rub the back of my neck, Scout Harding's report in hand.

"Inquisitor," I say. "We were-"

"Eagerly awaiting your presence," Leliana interrupts. "Some of us more than others."

My face burns. "I wasn't - I mean I was-" I clear my throat. "We have work to do."

A sly smile from Leliana tells me I've given her everything she wanted from that exchange. "Of course," she says sweetly.

The rest of the meeting is more comfortable as we fall back into our usual routine. I find myself glancing across the table at Lyla more often than I should, but every time I do, with a start I see her catching a glimpse of me too. It blurs my mind for a few moments, but other than that, we are able to slip back into our Inquisitor and Commander masks respectively.

"There's an old Warden outpost in the Western Approach, according to Warden Alistair," Lyla sighs a few hours later, looking down at the map.

"My agents have reported sightings of numerous Grey Wardens heading to the Western Approach, including activity at Adamant Fortress," Leliana supplies, pointing at a report infant of her.

"This cannot be ignored. If Corypheus is controlling them…" Lyla trails off, pursing her lips in thought.

"Warden Alistair and Hawke are departing for the Western Approach in two days," I say. "I'll send a small entourage with them."

Leliana shakes her head. "That would cause too much attention in Orlais."

"Indeed, our position within Orlais is tentative at the moment," Josephine concedes.

"I'll go," Lyla says, moving a marker in place on the map. "With a small group, we can move across Orlais quickly without drawing too much attention."

I suppress the churn of worry in the gut of my stomach. The Western Approach is hundreds of leagues away and will take weeks to get there, and back. It could be a journey that takes well over a month, depending on what they find. But this is war, I remind myself, so I nod in agreement.

"It could work - but I would rather send some forward scouts to observe the area."

"How soon could they leave?" Lyla asks.

"Within the hour, following your orders."

She tilts her head to the side eyes glazed at the map below. "As long as they are your fastest scouts and know the delicacy of the mission."

"Inquisitor," I incline my head.

"I shall send out ravens for my agents to keep monitoring the situation." Leliana moves a place on the map and Josephine scribbles notes on her board.

The meeting adjourns and after getting Lyla's signature on the document of orders, we all excuse ourselves for preparations. I head straight to the barracks, and really, it's just business as usual. I select a handful of men and women who have their horses saddled and ready only an hour later. I hand the orders to the captain and they depart over the bridge, urging their horses into a gallop as soon as they are out of the gates. I watch them go for a time but glance behind me to see Lyla standing on the steps overlooking the courtyard with Alistair and Leliana. I realise that I still haven't spoken to Alistair since he arrived, and it's something I know I need to face.

I take a breath and head towards them, my legs heavy as I climb the main steps. Their quiet discussion continues as I approach, but Lyla smiles warmly at me before turning back to Alistair.

"If she's been looking for a way to stop the Calling, perhaps she could help us?" Lyla is saying.

Alistair looks at Leliana. "I give you what information I know. If nothing else, I'd like to warn her about Corypheus."

"Of course, Alistair," Leliana smiles faintly. "Inquisitor, may I borrow you for a moment?"

Lyla nods and follows Leliana into the great hall, and I watch her leave so it's just me and Alistair. He holds his hand out to me.

"I don't think we've met," he says, almost cheerfully. "You're the Commander of the Inquisition, right?"

I shake his hand. "Yes, but we have met," I admit.

His eyes narrow and then widen in recognition. "Maker's breath, you're the Templar from Kinloch!"

I look down at my feet then back up at him. "That was me," I say.

"Maker's breath," he repeats. I instantly regret this meeting. If only Leliana and Lyla hadn't walked off, and yet I had come here with the sole purpose of getting this out of the way. And my curiosity is spiked with news of Surana…

"So you're off the lyrium then?" he asks.

I nod reluctantly, but I remember that Leliana had told me that Alistair had once been about to join the Templar Order, but left before being given lyrium. With a start, I realise that he probably knows more about the Order's drawbacks than anyone else I've spoken to.

"Your name's Cullen, right?" Alistair says, filling the silence. When I nod he continues. "Neria mentioned you sometimes, after Kinloch."

I look at anywhere but him. I am desperate to know what she's said but also terrified about what it could mean.

"I am very different from the person you saw at Kinloch," I say quietly.

"I can see that," Alistair sighs. "The whole thing was a mess… I remember you hated mages but…" he trails off.

I remember it too. The way I had raged inside the cage, begged Surana and Alistair to invoke the Rite of Annulment, the way I had hated their compassion, their bravery. They did not understand - I hated mages at that point. With a shake of my head, I pull myself out of those memories and look honestly at Alistair.

"What did she say?" I ask.

A small smile. "Oh, she told me of your little infatuation with her when she was an apprentice. I know, how embarrassing!" he chuckles, looking somewhere over my shoulder, his eyes glazed, clearly thinking of her. "But she told me how you were meant to give her the killing blow if she failed her Harrowing. The Order is not as forgiving as it appears…" his smile fades.

"How is she?" I ask, my voice low.

Alistair nods slowly. "Neria is alright and thankfully far away from all this mess. I'll tell her you asked, when I'm reunited with my love. I pray to the Maker, that it's sooner rather than later."

Years ago, I know that hearing him speak of her so warmly and lovingly would've turned me green with envy, and yet, as Lyla appears on the balcony above the main hall with Vivienne, I feel nothing for the Hero of Ferelden. Ten years since I had seen her, and I had been thinking of her a lot over that time, but here is Lyla, smiling down at me, going me a small wave and it's something I can't fully describe. Alistair follows my gaze.

"Neria will be pleased for you. The Inquisitor is a mage too, isn't she?"

I let myself smile, still watching Lyla as she turns to talk to Vivienne. "I… yes." I look back at Alistair who is watching me carefully.

"Have you told her about Kinloch?"

I shake my head. "Not yet, but I will… in time."

Alistair nods, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "I won't say a word. We all have our own demons to face."

We shake hands again and I return to my duties, thankful that the meeting with Warden Alistair was not as dreadful as I had initially feared. I head straight to the rookery and find Leliana kneeling by her small Andrastian figure.

She finishes her quiet prayer and looks up at me. "Just saying a prayer for the Hero of Ferelden," she says, getting to her feet. "She is a dear friend, and seeing Alistair has made me miss her companionship even more."

"Leliana," I say quietly. "Thank you for… for not…" I stumble over my words. How do I day thanks for not telling Alistair every secret about me, and vice versa?

"That's not necessary Cullen," Leliana says with a small smile. "Alistair has changed over the last ten years - as have we all." She inclines her head and walks to her desk. I say a small prayer to Andraste for allowing me this small retribution.

All too soon, Lyla, Alistair, Hawke and a select few of her Inner Circle are mounting their horses at the stables, ready to follow the trail set by my forward scouts. The grounds of Skyhold are busy with soldiers, guests and well-wishers, chatting idly with one another to help raise morale for the Inquisitor's departure.

I weave my way through the crowds towards Lyla, absolutely dreading this moment. Watching her leave in the past has never been easy, but now I know it will be harder for us both. She has been so busy in preparation for her journey to the Western Approach, that she could not even meet for our usual sparring sessions in the morning. At least I have the blissful memories of the other morning, before Dorian had disturbed us.

She is stood brushing down her white horse's mane, just apart from the others. I'm relieved that, despite being surrounded by the others, at least in this moment we can talk, albeit rather publicly.

"Are you all set?" I ask, standing next to her, rubbing the horse's neck.

She nods. "As I ever will be. It's going to be a long trek, but I've never really been to Orlais."

We fall into a strange silence, and I want nothing more than to take her aside from all of these people and just touch her. Just to show her some affection, to show her that I care and will miss her. But besides Dorian and Leliana knowing about us, word hasn't spread as quickly as I would've thought. I'm relieved, but know we must keep it professional, especially before the nobles and soldiers. Instead I offer her a hand onto her horse, which she accepts gratefully. I adjust her saddle as she gets comfortable, when her hand encloses mine on the reigns. It's a small gesture, but I squeeze her small hand in mine, and we share a look. Lyla smiles sadly and nods.

"Take care of yourself," she says. I know she's talking about the headaches but I brave a smile.

"Be safe yourself," I reply, slipping my hand away before any of the nobility and soldiers around us can notice.

The others mount and with one last glance, Lyla urges her mare forward and her small party of Dorian, Cassandra and Sera follow. There is a cheer as she passes through the crowd and across the drawbridge, those who are gathered know nothing about her mission, but support her all the same. I stand by the gates of Skyhold long after their figures are tiny blurs on the horizon.

* * *

 _Thanks for following this story! I think it's now going to be updated on a fortnightly basis, most likely on a Monday or Tuesday, just for consistency! Your faves, follows and comments keep me going, thank you!_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Chapter 17**_

* * *

The letter sits on my desk, unopened and untouched. I know that writing - it's clear and crisp and holds many memories and regrets. I'm leaning against the stone wall, staring at it for what seems like an hour until I finally muster the courage to unseal it.

 _"Dear Mia, I'm still alive. Your loving brother, Cullen"  
Honestly, is it so difficult? We thought you were dead. Again. If the Inquisition was not on everyone's lips, we would never have heard that their fine commander survived Haven.  
We've been hearing strange things about the templars lately. I am not sorry you left them. I thought your resignation was implied when you joined the Inquisition, but you meant something more, didn't you?  
It's a fool's errand asking you to stay safe, but please try.  
Your loving sister, (see how easy this is?)  
Mia_

I re-read the letter several times, to digest every sentence, every word. The guilt of it all rattles through me, making me grip the hilt of my sword for support as I pace my office. I read it again, just to take in that familiar handwriting and I scrunch it up. I throw it to the floor exasperated. My legs jerk as I hesitate again before swooping down to pick up the letter once more and flatten it on my desk just to read it again. My elation from the memories of Lyla and I sparring before she left for the Western Approach are extinguished as if to remind me that I don't _deserve_ to be happy. I do not deserve Lyla when I have let so many others down; let my family down. If I'm not careful, I will let Lyla down too and the thought cripples me.

To tell my sister that I have, in-fact, written to her many times over the years only to end up as kindling, would drive her mad with anger. But it is has been so long since I've seen any of my siblings, that I find myself struggling to remember their faces, their voices.

I spend the rest of the afternoon mulling over reports, only to re-read Mia's letter again and again. I know I'm in desperate need of a distraction with the absence that Lyla has left since her mission to the Western Approach. Any day now, a report is due from them and I am anxious to hear any news, feeling useless that we are left in the dark about the unknown.

It's late in the evening when there's a gentle knock at the door. For a moment I forget that Lyla is away, and my stomach flips at the thought of seeing her. But Leliana enters the room, a crow on her arm.

"I thought you would still be up," she says. "I've got messages from the Inquisitor."

"Messages?" I repeat, puzzled.

Leliana tugs out the rolled parchment from the crow's ankle. "There's her official report but also another, addressed only to you."

I stand abruptly, and the crow flaps its wings at my sudden movement. Leliana coos to the bird, stroking it's chest with a gloved finger.

I take the letter from her outstretched hand, and recognise Lyla's loopy script reading just 'Commander Cullen'. I turn it over, noticing the seal is already broken.

"Intercepted?" I ask, glancing at Leliana.

She shakes her head. "I have to check these things, you know. I ought to get her to write in code, really."

"You've read it?"

"Well it was attached to the same bird - I had to check, just incase."

I sigh, tucking the letter into my pocket, wanting to read it in my own time, alone. But the apprehension of reading her letter is an awful temptation. I can feel it burning in my pocket.

"Cullen, I should talk to you about Inquisitor Lavellan... and you."

I still, waiting for her to continue, dreading her words.

"Whilst my teasing is all in jest I just need to make sure that… things won't get complicated if they-"

"They won't, Leliana," I cut across.

She inclines her head slightly. "I only mean… does she know about your… headaches?"

"Yes. Although she knows little of how bad they are. I do not want to be a burden."

Leliana nods. "I don't want either of you getting hurt. And it's probably best, for diplomatic reasons, that whatever is going on between you, remains as private as possible."

"Diplomatic reasons?"

A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Josephine is negotiating and handling all new queries regarding lineage and betrothals for both you an the Inquisitor. Don't worry," she says, as I open my mouth to protest. "Our ambassador is very good at holding them at bay. But in the interests of alliances, I suggest you keep this a private matter, yes?"

"I intend to," I say, a horrible taste in my mouth, hating the ways of the great game.

She sighs. "I remember during the Blight, Alistair and the Neria falling for each other. Oh, they caused _such_ a great scandal when Alistair refused the Kingship to remain a Warden. We all know he did it to stay with her."

"I won't abandon the Inquisition, if that's what you're implying," I say.

"I know that… but you know that Lyla will have to abandon Clan Lavellan if she stays with you?" Leliana says softly. When I don't reply she turns to leave, handing me the report with the Inquisition seal. "Just be careful. I'll meet you in the war room in the morning with Josephine so we can discuss this report."

"Thank you, Leliana," I say, looking down at the report. She backs out of my office, closing the door softly behind her.

I walk slowly back to my desk, unrolling the neat report and preparing myself for the news. At least I know she is safe, and that gives me a little hope, despite Leliana's words.

 _Dear Advisors,  
It is much worse than we thought. The Grey Wardens are not in their right mind, with Warden mages under complete control of Corypheus, through a Tevinter mage: Erimond. What's worse, is that those who aren't possessed are simply following orders, hoping this will stop a future Blight. They are scared and desperate and are congregating at Adamant Fortress, to the west, using blood magic to summon demons._

 _We have learnt a great deal, but will need to get into Adamant Fortress before Corypheus' demon army can be summoned by his Warden puppets. In an attempt to secure the Western Approach, we have procured Griffon Wing Keep - Captain Rylen is setting up a base here for the Inquisition._

 _We are returning to Skyhold as quickly as possible and will be back within the week, Creators permitting. I shall explain more when I arrive._

 _Signed,  
Inquisitor Lavellan, Herald of Andraste_

I scan the letter several times and immediately begin planning for an inevitable assault. I spend most of the night pouring over maps and documents, writing plans and orders, counting recruits and composing regiments. It's tedious work, but I'm admittedly pleased for the distraction, knowing that the Inquisition's army are almost ready. I speak to Blackwall late in the night asking for his opinion, but the man is elusive with his knowledge of Adamant Fortress. Even so, he's clearly had experience in an army, but I'm too intent on organising a potential assault, that I don't probe him for more.

I can see light starting to appear on the horizon when I finally get up from my desk and stretch. It's a few hours before the rest of the keep will awake, and normally I would be meeting Lyla in the training ground for our sparring match.

With a jerk, I reach into my pocket, suddenly remembering her letter. How could I have forgotten? My eyes are heavy and I know I need to sleep before the meeting in a few hours, but to know that she has written to me - just me - greatly lifts my heart. I smile as I climb the ladder, peeling off my armour and standing by the window. Finally, I roll open the letter and read by the faint light of dawn at the window.

 _Dear Cullen,  
You'll have seen my report from the Western Approach to you, Leliana and Josephine by now, but this is not a report. Leliana - I know you'll read this anyway, but please, this is informal and strictly off-the-record._

 _It seems so long since I was at Skyhold, saying goodbye to you at the stables. It seems even longer since that soiree. How ridiculous does that sound? Dorian is currently reading this over my shoulder as I write and is scoffing. He's becoming insufferable._

 _There is sand everywhere, it's not even remotely comfortable. I never thought I would miss the cold and snow of Skyhold, but here I am praying to the Creators for snow instead of sand._

 _Really, what I'm trying to say is that I miss you. And I'm not very good at this.  
Take care,  
Lyla_

I read the letter again and again, my chest lighter, my tiredness easing. I grin at her words and scan the letter once more before collapsing on my bed into a blissfully dreamless sleep; the letter still clutched in my hand.

* * *

True to her word, Lyla returns less than a week after her letters arrived. I'm standing in the war room with Leliana and Josephine, awaiting her arrival. Unlike her usual returns to Skyhold, there is no victory to celebrate, only the nervous apprehension of the battle which is sure to come. I rest my hand on the pommel of my sword at my hip, hoping to keep my hands still. I know, that as soon as Lyla arrives, we will plan straightaway for our departure. There will be little to no time to see her, except as our Commander and Inquisitor selves.

But we are at war, I must remind myself of this. Every moment where we are in the same room is a blessing and I will not forget that. When she finally pushes open the doors with Hawke and Alistair behind her, I cannot even try to smile when I see how exhausted she is.

Still in her travelling gear, her hair is windswept and her nose is pink. Her breeches are faded and stained with sand, dirt and now damp from snow. She smiles faintly as she takes her place opposite us at the table, but I can see the way she's favouring her right side as she walks, and worry plucks at me.

"Welcome back, Inquisitor," Josephine says, offering a smile.

"Thank you. Although I fear we will need to depart as soon as possible." She sighs, running a hand through her hair and looking down at the map. I pass her a roll of parchment with clear drawings of the fortress which she browses over as we each present our updates following her letters.

"Adamant Fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the Second Blight," Leliana says.

"Fortunately for us, that means it was built before the age of modern siege equipment," I reply. "A good trebuchet will to major damage to those ancient walls, thanks to our Lady Ambassador."

Josephine beams. "Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her soldiers. They will deliver the trebuchets."

"That is the good news," Leliana says bluntly.

"… and the bad news?" Lyla prompts.

"Erimond called the ritual at the Western Approach a test. He may already be raising his army of demons in the fortress."

I point to the plans of the fort on the table. "The Inquisition forces can breach the gate, but if the Wardens already have their demons…"

"Look at these records of Adamant's construction," Leliana points to similar drawings of the ones I've already seen. "There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle."

"That's good," I say. "We may not be able to defeat them outright." My mind is working a mile a minute to plan this down to the tiny detail. I turn to Lyla. "But if we cut off reinforcements, we can care you a path to Warden Commander Clarel."

Lyla looks away, picking at the hem of her gloves. "Taking this fortress is going to get a lot of good soldiers killed."

I open my mouth to reply but quickly close it. No matter what I say, it's not going to help. She speaks the truth, but that is the price of fighting a war for peace. To think of those who may die and the lives they leave behind is a luxury I cannot afford to think about.

"Our soldiers know the risks, Inquisitor," Josephine says softly. "And they know what they're fighting for."

"It will be hard fought, no way around it. But we'll get that gate open," I say, confident in the men and women I've been training. Knowing that for them, they are itching for a battle, to fight in this war.

Josephine glances behind Lyla to where Hawke and Alistair are talking just outside of the doors. "It's also possible that some Wardens may be sympathetic to our cause."

"The warriors may be willing to listen to reason," Leliana concedes. "Though I doubt they will turn against Clarel directly. The mages however, are slaves to Corypheus. They will fight to the death."

We fall into a contemplative silence as we digest the news. Lyla doesn't dare look at any of us, but keeps her head bowed, eyes tracing the maps and plans before her, as if absorbing everything to memory.

"We'll leave on the morrow," she says eventually.

The meeting is adjourned and we all swiftly return to our duties. In the main hall, I hesitate as I watch Lyla slowly make her way towards her quarters. She stifles a yawn and I'm loathe to disturb her, but cannot think of a reason why I shouldn't. I know that to be alone on the eve of departing for battle is the last thing you want.

With my mind made up I hand my reports over to one of my men and head towards the kitchens, which are unusually busy at this late hour. I'm blissfully ignored as the cooks and servants hurry around preparing food for the journey with packs of salted meat and sugary treats. I spot lemon cakes on a stand in the corner, knowing that they were meant to be for a welcoming feast with Lyla's return.

I manage to slip a few onto a plate, pop them on a silver tray and head out to the wine cellar, pulling out a small bottle of chilled wine with none of the servants noticing me. I slip into Josephine's office and find it - thankfully - empty. Placing the cakes and wine on her desk, I rummage for some parchment and a quill and scribble a quick note:

 _Inquisitor,  
Thought you could use a little something sweet to help you relax before our march to the west.  
Cullen_

I cringe over my clumsy words, not knowing what to say. It makes no sense, but I hope it's something. Before I back-out, I place the parchment on the tray next to the cakes and sweep out of Josephine's office, pushing the Inquisitor's quarters door open with my shoulder. With each step I take up the tower, my feet like stone and the tray appears to get heavier. When I finally stop outside of her closed chamber door, I place the tray down, determined not to knock, incase she is already asleep. However desperate I am to see her, I know that calling on her in the night like this, on the eve of our departure, really isn't proper.

Kneeling down, I place the tray on the floor outside of the door. I straighten, resist the final urge to knock and back away. As I turn and head towards the stairs back down, a shiver runs up my spine and I freeze on the spot. The door is opening.

"Cullen?" her voice is soft, quiet and questioning.

I don't reply, I don't trust myself. But she says my name again and I am compelled to turn and look at her at least. I tell myself not to speak, not to move, just to respond to her questions. Not to bother her.

She stands in the doorway, a hand on the catch. Her light hair tumbles down in soft waves around her face and her lips are parted slightly. To me, she looks so enchanting, dressed so simply in a leather breeches and a loose shirt. There's a faint smile tugging the corners of her lips as she glances down at the tray by her feet.

"What's all this?"

I rub the back of my neck, looking anywhere but at her. This was a terrible idea. I should not be here.

"I… I thought… ah, it doesn't matter."

"Ah, lemon cakes!"

Lyla picks up the tray and turns to take it with her, but looks at me over her shoulder. "Won't you join me for a glass?"

Every part of me wants to say yes, to pick her up with the tray and take her to her rooms, but I remain rooted to the spot. Her face falls a little, so instead she carefully puts the tray back down on the floor, steps over it and walks towards me.

"I shouldn't be here," I say quietly, when she stops in front of me.

"I know," she replies softly, leaning up and kissing my cheek.

Something in me snaps and I take her waist, desperate to feel her as close to me as possible: it's been so many weeks since I helped her onto her horse, even longer since we had kissed on the training ground. My nervousness is replaced by determination as I pull her close, knowing more than anything I want to cherish her, protect her and spend just _one night_ ignoring our responsibilities and those cursed 'appearances'. Despite this, with restrain I don't know I had, I pull her into a hug, resting my head on her shoulder, breathing in deeply her light scent of strawberries and sweat.

We're silent for a few moments before she kisses my temple. "Cullen," she says, breathlessly. It sends a shiver of desire through me. Oh _Maker_ , this is not good…

"Cullen," she repeats. "Your-your armour is-ah-"

With a start I pull back. "Sorry!" I exclaim.

Lyla shakes her head, smiling. "Thank you, Cullen. I…" She chews her bottom lip and carefully steps back. "I should… I should go."

I'm deflated but I know it's right so I nod. "Me too. I just… needed to make sure you're alright," I say lamely.

"I missed you," she replies, picking the tray up once more. "And not just because you brought me lemon cakes and wine," she chuckles.

I grin at her and rub my neck. "Well, goodnight, Lyla."

"Goodnight Cullen."

The door closes softly and I'm left in the dark corridor knowing that sleep will be hard to come by tonight.

* * *

 _ **Thank you for your reviews! This will be updated on a fortnightly basis. Thanks for reading! Reviews loved!**_


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

The ride to the Western Approach is hard on the troops, knowing that each step takes them closer to their deaths. I ride with them, listening as mages and templars swap stories of their different - yet similar - lives. I see one templar speak excitedly to a mage, their faces animated as they speak of their tactics and how they can work together in the coming battle. I watch from a distance as I see their friendship develop over our weeks on the road, and pray that after all of this, the relationships between the two groups will remain as strong.

Despite our haste to arrive, with our vast and growing numbers, it takes much longer to cross Orlais with the hundreds of horses and foot soldiers. I hang back and move slowly with them, but as we get closer to the desert, our destination only a few more nights away; I take a small escort and gallop away to the next forward camp. It's hard work and in my armour I sweat continuously after each ride.

On the second day of fast travelling, I finally see the Griffon Wing Keep on the horizon - it's stone walls rising high above the sand in the desolate landscape. It's late afternoon, the sun is low, and I urge my stallion on as we get closer, my body aching from the ride.

Once through the gates I dismount in the busy courtyard, amazed to see it so full and buzzing with activity. There are vendors here, selling weapons and supplies for soldiers, whilst just outside the gates, new rows of tents are being pitched in preparation for the arriving army. I hand the reigns of my stallion over to a stable hand and pull of my gloves, running a hand through my hair, as I make my way into the fort.

It's far too small to host an army with the place bustling and full to the brim, even before my troops arrive. Regardless, I look forward to a simple luxury of perhaps sleeping in a soft bed tonight, rather than a bedroll on the hard ground. With disdain, I notice that even inside the keep, there is sand in every crack of stone work, and I just know that it's going to take months to get all of the sand out of, well, everywhere.

"Commander," a voice behind me says. I turn and see Blackwall make his way through the crowd towards me.

"Warden Blackwall," I greet formally. "Has the Inquisitor arrived?" I had hoped to catch her up on my gallop to the keep, but either she had already arrived or I had overtaken her at some point. The fact that Blackwall is here makes me realise that she and her Inner Circle crossed the desert quicker than I thought.

The bearded man nods. "Yes - we all arrived yesterday. I can take you to the Inquisitor, if you like?"

I nod in reply and follow Blackwall up thick stone steps, taking in every detail of the keep, noting it's excellent condition, despite the Wardens abandoning it. I see Captain Rylen running drills with new recruits as Blackwall leads me ever upward through the keep. I know that without his guidance, it would take me hours to find where I needed to be.

At the top of the final stairs there are tents pitched on the stone courtyard near the Inquisition flag, flapping high in the wind. I look around and see Iron Bull talking with Dorian in the shade, Varric tuning his crossbow and Cole following Solas around one of the upper ramparts.

"She's through here," Blackwall says, pointing to a low door wedged between thick walls. I push the door open and see Lyla standing with her back to me, her head bowed over a table, Cassandra talking in a low voice with her. Alistair lingers in the corner but glances up when he sees me enter. It's a small and dark room, but most likely one of the biggest in the hold, meant for the commander of the keep. There's a narrow bed against one of the walls, but the desk in the middle takes up the most space, the rest of the room is sparse with minimal belongings and decorations. I assume it was looted by the Venatori when they held this place.

"Inquisitor," Blackwall says. "The Commander has arrived."

Lyla spins on the spot, her face breaking into a huge smile. I resist every urge to go up to her, so instead remain just inside the room, but a lopsided smile creeps onto my own face in response. Maker, I will never get tired of the way she looks at me sometimes. As if realising, she looks down and adjusts her face, drawing over her Inquisitor mask, just as I don my Commander one. I can feel Cassandra's eyes flying between us as she tries to understand the situation. If the situation weren't so solemn, I know I would take some delight in her puzzlement.

"Commander Cullen," Lyla says formally, and I incline my head in response.

"Inquisitor," I reply, just as formal, pretending those heated moments on the battlements at Skyhold are dreams and tricks of the fade, and not real.

"Is the army with you?" Cassandra asks.

"They are but two days behind."

"Good," Cassandra says, crossing her arms. "We've had reports of more activity coming from Fort Adamant."

"There are hundreds of Wardens there now," Alistair says quietly from the corner. "It will be hard to launch a siege."

"But not impossible," I say, stepping forward. "Inquisitor, I suggest that as soon as the army arrives, we move out for Fort Adamant - we have no time to waste."

Lyla nods, pursing her lips in thought. "Inform the troops here. Let's prepare to leave tomorrow, just incase."

We run through the final plans and preparations and before we know it, the sun has long set and we're pouring over the same maps and plans by candlelight that I've seen a thousand times now. As Cassandra speaks about the positioning of some of the mages, my eyes drift over to the bed in the corner of the room, it's soft mattress looking so inviting.

"Perhaps we should adjourn for the night?" Lyla says, looking at each of us in turn.

"Yes, Inquisitor," Alistair says, heading out, quickly followed by Cassandra. She pauses in the doorway, giving me a strange look when I do not follow. Lyla turns away to stand by the arrow-slit window, and finally, blissfully, the door closes and we are alone.

As soon as I hear the latch click, I take three strides across the room and she's in my arms once more. She sighs as I hold her, my mouth brushing the top of her head.

"You've got sand in your hair," I say with a smile.

She chuckles quietly. "I've got sand everywhere - I did warn you."

I'm not sure how long we stand like this, just in quiet, letting the dark night envelope us. I cherish every moment, knowing that with each passing minute, the inevitable danger gets that little but closer.

"I've never done this before, Cullen," she whispers sometime later.

I pull away, resting my hands on her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

A faint smile. "Well I'm just leading an army against Grey Wardens _and_ demons tomorrow. So I'm brilliant." She says it with such dry humour that I smile in response.

"You should sleep," I say, nodding to the small bed.

Lyla shakes her head. "I can't - not when there's so much to think about." She picks up a report off the desk and sits on the edge of the bed. "Run this through with me, will you?"

I pick up a few other reports addressed to me and stand by the foot of the bed. She leans against the stone wall, getting comfortable. I'm halfway through one report when I see her pat the space next to her.

"Can you make out what Rylen means by this?" she says idly pointing to a scribbled roll of parchment.

I hesitate, but I'm so tired from the journey that to feel something soft and comfortable is a temptation I can't refuse. I sit next to her, careful not to brush against her accidentally, just incase my mind wanders to the fact that we are alone in her quarters, sat on her bed. Maker's breath…

But she focuses all of my attention on the reports in her hand and eventually we fall into a companionable silence as we work side-by-side in the candlelight. Whether it's minutes or hours, I'm unsure, but when I finally let myself look at her out of the corner of my eye, I see that she is leaning against me, her head resting on the shaggy coat around my shoulders. Her eyes are closed and her breathing deep.

I daren't move incase I disturb her, so try to focus back on a new report in my hand, but the words do not absorb. I am acutely aware of the sound of her soft breaths on my coat. Perhaps I'm imagining it, but I think I can feel her heat through my armour. She shits and rubs her neck, opening sleepy green eyes at me.

"Sorry," she mumbles, her words slurred by sleep. "Must've dozed off…"

I slide off the bed and help her lie down, pulling a blanket over. She slips into the fade almost instantly and I resume my spot on the end of the bed, reports in hand. It is not long until I follow her into the abyss of dreams.

* * *

I wake to a soft feather pillow and a warm blanket. I inhale and smell the sweetness of strawberries that remind me of my childhood. I dream of them, my siblings, so when I am pulled out of the fade into this comfort, I am momentarily confused. I blink awake, noting the sandy stone walls, the sparse decorations and the hum of a busy keep preparing for war. I sit up, scanning the room and spot Lyla leaning against the arrow-slit window, her hair falling down her back.

Even as I rise, feeling stiff and sore after sleeping in my armour, she does not move. I approach slowly and take her in my arms, no words need to be said. She sighs and relaxes against me, making my heart beat faster. I inhale the smell of her hair, trying to remember every detail about this moment as the sun rises in the east. Her hair shining in the sunrise. The delicate flush on her cheeks. The way she bites her bottom lip when deep in thought.

The door bursts open behind us, and I jump back, hands instinctively resting on the hilt of my sword out of habit.

Cassandra strides in. "Ah Commander, good, you're here already," she says. "Inquisitor, our forces have just been spotted on the horizon."

"Already?" Lyla raises her eyebrows.

"They must've pushed hard to reach here sooner," I say, moving to the desk in the middle.

"We could be at Adamant by nightfall," Cassandra finishes, a heavy silence falling. I knew this would happen, that last night would be the beginning of the end.

Lyla clears her throat and signals to a scout just outside of the door to come in. "Tell all of my Inner Circle to meet me here at once, to discuss the final battle plan," she orders, the scout salutes and marches swiftly to do her bidding.

As we wait, I stand next to her, and when Cassandra's pouring over the maps, I pretend to do so too, but I carefully place a hand on the small of Lyla's back. She feel's solid and stoic, but relaxes against my touches and glances at me though the corner of her eye. My stomach is in knots, and I slip my hand away when the Inner Circle start to enter the room. Lyla clicks her fingers and pulls her hair out of her face, into a high practical ponytail.

Once everyone is assembled, the door is closed and the room is dark and cramped. we wait as Lyla reads a final report in front of her before looking at each of her Inner Circle in turn, along with Alistair and Hawke, who both stand just in the shadows.

"My friends," she says quietly, and their chatter dies out as they listen. "This battle for Adamant will not be easy - indeed taking any fortress presents its own challenges, but this is different. There will be Grey Wardens there - Wardens who are loyal and simply following orders and Wardens whose mind's are no longer their own. We must be ruthless and forgiving; harsh but sympathetic. Despite everything, not all Warden's know what's at stake, so - where possible - I ask for minimal casualties.

"Commander Cullen will lead the vanguard and attack with the supplied trebuchets with the bulk of our forces. The new siege equipment will be used to break down the door, which is the weakest structure at the fortress. Once down, I will then lead a small division into the fort to find Clarel - and spare any Wardens along the way."

Lyla's voice is steady and strong: she lets no-one see just how tired, just how scared she is, except when she admitted it to me last night. My chest swells with pride as I see her determination rub off on those around her. She continues her talk, pacing around the desk.

"Alistair, Hawke, Blackwall, Cole and Solas will come with me into Adamant. There will be demons and abominations, so the rest of you will stay with the vanguard, under Cullen's command." They nod at her orders before she continues. "Dorian and Vivienne - I need you both to hold back and stay with the healers to help those injured. Varric and Sera: you will help oversee the archers - make sure you take down as many on the ramparts as you can see. Cassandra and Bull, you'll both lead sub-divisions and flank from the north and south respectively."

She takes a breath and stops her pacing, looking at each person in the room, her eyes linger on me a fraction longer than anyone else, but I'm probably just imaging it. "It's going to be tough, but if we march this morning and through the day then, we will attack the fortress tonight, when it will be cooler. Please take care - I'll be very upset if you do anything stupid," she smiles faintly, and there's a flicker of nervous laughter around the room. As Lyla goes over the finer details with each person I try not to worry - try not to think about anything but the task at hand.

I depart and meet the army with just a brief farewell to Lyla. She presses her hand to mine as I steady my stallion before charging out of the gates of the Griffon Wing Keep, to reconvene with the troops. I can't help but look back over my shoulder, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as I see Lyla watching me leave.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for following, reading and reviewing! Next update in 2 weeks. :) Your comments keep me going! ^^**_


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

* * *

The march across the desert is hard and subdued. Gone is the light-hearted banter and chatter that left Skyhold. Now it's quiet with only the sound of boots padding on the sandy ground, pants as the sun glares down on us, everyone warm and sweating in their armour. We pass many old Grey Warden checkpoints on the way, all of them derelict and crumbling in the desert after hundreds of years of neglect. It's a sobering sight and one which makes some pause whilst others march on with renewed determination.

As the sun sets, the temperature cools but once over a large sand dune, the tallest towers of the massive fortress come in to view. It is an impressive sight to see this old Tevinter stronghold still standing amidst the desolation of the desert. But even from this distance, I can already see the weak points where attacking would be the most advantageous. The maps and drawings I've studied over the last few weeks do little justice to the sight and might of the fortress. Once we're less than two miles away from Adamant, I call a halt to marching column of troops behind me.

I gallop up and down the line, viewing each regiment, my eyes blinded as the setting sun reflects brightly off gleaming armour. The Inquisition forces stand to attention when they see me coming, and the standard bearers come forward. I speak with a few of them, gauge their nerves, but mostly, now that we've reached our destination, it's nervous excitement that pulses through the body of soldiers. They are anxious, keen to get started, but wary to fight unknown hoards of demons. For all we know, an army of demons could be waiting for us inside the fort.

As the final regiment appear over the dunes, I see Lyla and her Inner Circle gallop through the ranks, where the Inquisition forces cheer and applaud when they see her ride hard. Usually, she would wave politely, pause and speak with some, but not today. She leans forward in her saddle, her hair flying behind her back as she rides with determination. The inner circle branch off behind her, going to their respected positions, until it's just four figures riding towards me at the front.

"Woah," Lyla speaks to her white mare, patting its mane as they stop before me. I incline my head, knowing that we must both keep up appearances for the sake of the army behind us and ahead.

"Inquisitor," I say. "With the light failing, the archers on the ramparts won't have a clear line of sight. It's the perfect time to strike."

Lyla nods, looking at the gate. "I need to get through that gate," she says, almost to herself.

"The army will move forward with the siege equipment and-"

Alistair interrupts. "The gate is opening!" he exclaims, leaning forward in his saddle.

We all turn to watch as two small figures emerge, both on horseback. One holds a banner following the other. I look at Lyla.

"They wish to speak with us first, it would seem."

"Good. Perhaps we can avoid more bloodshed," she replies, digging her spurs into her horse and galloping forwards.

I signal to one of my banner-men on horseback to follow me as I go after her with Alistair. The four of us cross the flat distance in no time at all. As we get closer, I can make out the Grey Warden banner in the hands of a Warden mage, whilst astride a large black stallion is a Tevinter mage with slicked back hair as dark as the void and narrowed little eyes.

"Inquisitor Lavellan!" he says with a smirk. "So glad you could make it."

I peer up and analyse the fortifications, now we're up close. Lyla sits straighter in her saddle and replies cooly. "Magister Erimond: you are hereby ordered to open these gates so the Inquisition can discuss this peacefully and end this madness."

"Madness?" he repeats with a bark of laughter. "Inquisitor, the only madness here is you attacking Grey Wardens - the very same Grey Wardens who stopped the fifth Blight ten years ago!"

"Have you lost your mind?" Alistair retorts from behind me. "I happened to _be_ there when the Archdemon was slain. I saw Denerim almost destroyed because of the Blight-"

"Then you know that the Wardens must do everything they can to prevent future Blights!" Erimond snaps, jutting his chin forward.

"Not like this!" Alistair shouts.

"Enough," Lyla says, not looking away from Erimond. His sly grin spreads, making my gut burn with hatred. She continues, her face a mask I cannot read. "We have no quarrel with the Wardens - simply let them go and then nobody has to die."

Erimond sighs dramatically. "Be that I could, Inquisitor, but I don't have the authority to. Warden Commander Clarel on the other hand does, but is _not_ willing to."

"You cannot do this!" Lyla shouts, her cheeks red with anger. "How many innocent Wardens will die because of your deceit?"

But the magister turns his horse around and canters back through the gates, the Warden mage following. I take one last look at the fortifications, noting the archers lining the battlements, the low parapets, the rotting gates. I dig my heels into my stallion and gallop back to the vanguard, Lyla leading the way, glancing back once as she casts a protective barrier around us.

"I had hoped some would see reason," Alistair says bitterly as we slow upon reaching the troops.

"There is still hope for those inside," Lyla says, but seems to doubt her own words. "The warriors are not under the influence like the mages, as far as I can tell. They, at least, might see reason." Alistair doesn't reply, his face like stone. "I must get to Clarel, to stop this summoning," Lyla states, meeting my gaze. I nod in reply and unsheathe my sword, using my horse up and down the front lines.

"Inquisition!" I call, my voice ringing. "Adamant fortress is weak, and ripe for the taking! Stick with your units, your regiments and this battle can be swift and clean. The mage Wardens will be relentless, but the warriors may see reason - under the Inquisitor's orders, if any lives can be spared, then spare them.

"There may be friends and family among the Wardens, and this will be difficult. But breaching the gate is our top priority! Remain strong and fight for freedom, fight Corypheus, fight for your lives!" I point my sword forward and urge the attack to commence.

The trebuchets are the first to cause damage, as they fling giant rocks to the walls of adamant. As planned, they create a distraction as the siege equipment is marched through the ranks. The Inquisition's archers loose their first round of arrows, hitting targets peering over the parapets. They continue, providing effective covering fire as the siege equipment gets closer to the gates. I stay on my horse, the blood and adrenaline bounding in my ears as the soldiers march closer, chanting and stamping their feet. The air is electric with anticipation, and the call of blood and death, as terrible as it may be, beckons each of us forward. It's hypnotic as we reach the outer walls, knowing that our plan of attack is working. With renewed motivation, the Inquisition's forces forget that they've marched for days over a hot desert, instead focused entirely on the battle, and of winning. I grip my sword in my hand as I dismount, shouting orders to regiments and units to put more pressure on the Wardens.

"The Wardens do not know. Conflicted. Following orders. Is Clarel mad? Doubt. Is this how we stop a Blight?" Cole says in his quiet voice from behind me. Lyla stands ready beside him, her hands spread before her, as fire licks her fingertips.

Rocks fall from the battlements, as the Wardens realise our goal to break down the gates. They fling stones down upon the troops who are almost at the gates. I see a few soldiers fall, as their helmets do little to protect them from the weight of the stones. But, as their training shows, they must move on, and they do - stepping over the bodies of their comrades to continue on, to ensure the gate is open for the Inquisitor.

I raise my arm, pointing my finger to the sky, and signal the ladders. The troops who had marched quietly though the ranks had carried long ladders between them, hidden from view from the Wardens. With just a few feet away from the walls, soldiers mount the ladders and being to scale the stone walls. Our attack is so strong that the Wardens are already faltering. But none of that matters until the gate is open.

With three mighty thuds, the siege equipment does just that. Lyla, now on foot, runs with Cole, Solas and Blackwall in tow, weaving in-between the Inquisition soldiers who provide them cover. I watch as she peers out from the cover of a scouts shield, to throw a controlled fireball to the battlements, which sends Wardens screaming in panic as they are set alight. My gut clenches with a twinge of fear - that old fear of magic, but I stop myself, knowing that this is Lyla, and what she just did is no different than Varric or Sera plucking them off with their arrows and bolts. Her magic helps another ladder get its foothold and she continues under the cover of scouts, throwing one more fireball at the burning gates which does the trick of destroying them.

The soldiers cheer and once again their energy is renewed, I raise my sword, pointing it forward and order a hard charge. I deflect arrows and fireballs alike with my shield like second nature. It's been sometime, but I hate to admit that I relish it, once I'm here in the heat of battle. Nothing can quite match it, and my fingers tingle. But something is missing. I glance around me as I sprint to the gates, noting that the ex-templars are running harder, not breaking a sweat. With a pang of envy, I know that their lyrium is keeping them strong, to become the powerful warriors they are meant to be. I know I shouldn't, but at this moment I desperately miss that surge of energy, that surge of power, only lyrium can give me.

But then, as I approach the gates, past the siege equipment, I witness Lyla fighting Wardens and demons alike. Since the first time I saw her fight at the conclave, things have changed. She is swifter and faster in her movements and so much stronger. With one hand she twirls her staff, the magic igniting the end and crackling around her; with the other, the long magical sword cuts through the air, slashing easily through demons until the entrance courtyard is empty of enemies, the bodies littered on the ground and fire crackling around them.

"Pull back! They're through!" a panicked Warden cries from above as I run up to Lyla.

"Alright Inquisitor, you have your way in," I say formally, knowing that all eyes are upon us. "We'll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can."

Lyla shakes her head. "I'll be fine. Just keep the men safe."

My hands shake, so I grip my sword tighter. "We'll do what we have to Inquisitor." I look to Alistair who's face is white as he looks at the dead Wardens before him. "Warden Alistair will guard your back and Hawke is with your soldiers on the battlements - she's assisting them until you arrive," I explain our plan once more. It's the plan we'd come up with together, but reiterating it, and saying it to her helps stop my hands shaking, helps stop the nerves and I hope it helps Lyla remain focused as she nods in reply.

I'm about to say more but I'm interrupted by a cry from the battlements. In unison we all look up and see an Inquisition soldier fall from the battlements, landing with a heavy thud on the ground, their eyes wide open in terror, their face white as the life slips out of them. I feel cold all over, despite the heat of the flames around me when I see a demon screech down at us. I remember Kinloch Hold with demons and abominations running rampant, and that demonic scream is so familiar, that a knot of terror grips my stomach. I swallow and look to Lyla.

"There's too much resistance on the walls," I admit, not anticipating this many demons already summoned. "Our men on the ladders can't get a foothold… if you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we'll cover your advance."

Lyla looks to Alistair who nods in reply. "Very well, Commander," Lyla says formally, twirling her staff in her hand. She turns to her companions. "Let us hurry."

I run back to the vanguard, barking orders as Lyla's small unit disappear inside the fortress. Ladders are raised and footholds are gained and just moments later I see warriors stand down as Lyla approaches. I'm too far away to hear what she says, but my chest swells with pride as some of the Wardens listen to sense. Despite the death and destruction around us, lives are still being saved, due to her compassion. I shout as much to the troops around me, who are spurred on to hoist more ladders against the walls. I witness Hawke throwing her daggers, Lyla and Solas casting spells back to back. I watch them scale the battlements as the small group cut down demons one by one.

"They're through!" the cry echoes through the ranks and I assume Lyla has made it to the centre and to Clarel. I gather my men in my unit and we follow in Lyla's steps, helping any injured Wardens, getting them out of the way to safety whilst cutting down any stray demons. As I step over corpses my gut churns at the destruction: Lyla and her inner circle are just as ruthless, doing the work of a small army, rather than that of a few individuals. Not for the first time, her power and her magic tugs at my concern, my still-present fear of magic that's been hammered into me since I was a teenager. I shake my head and continue through the fortress, ordering healers to assist the wounded.

And then I hear it. A deafening screech in the sky that sends my blood to ice. With dismay I look up, silence falling as the beast cries again. No, not here, not now, _not again_. The Archdemon perches above on the upper lever and my veins burn inside me as I realise the terrible beast is breathing not fire, but red lyrium.

"Protect the Herald!" I cry, running forwards, everything a blur. "Protect the Inquisitor!"

They rally around me and we cut through a new wave of summons demons behind the walls of the fortress. The trebuchets out on the field fire their burning rocks to attack the creature, but the dragon is clever and doges easily, breathing down onto the inner courtyard. It takes flight, circling low, screeching it's terrible cry. A few of the troops falter and watch it attack some stragglers. I push them onwards, cutting down demon after demon, my steps light and practiced, only thinking of getting to Lyla and stopping Clarel.

The Warden Commander appears on the battlements above, sprinting after the magister and a leap of hope spreads through me. Has Clarel seen sense? I spot Lyla sprinting after her with her small group hot on her heels, dodging the red lyrium of the dragon and sidestepping demons as she catches up to the top level of the fortress.

I'm sweating under my armour, feeling exhausted, wanting nothing more than the cool blue lyrium to give me the strength I need. The ex-Templars in my unit don't even break a sweat as they charge forwards, now fighting side-by-side with Wardens who are well enough to help combat the demons.

"Don't let them flank you!" I call, and an Inquisition mage sets ice-runes on the ground, trapping demons in place as warriors cut them down easily. Finally, we reach the upper battlements, where the fortress is at its weakest - the age of the stonework straining under the pressure of the trebuchets. The walls are crumbling, the flagstones are shaky under our feet.

What I see at the top makes us all come to a halt.

Clarel, bleeding and dying on the ground casts an incredibly powerful shocking spell, flinging the dragon backwards, the floor beneath us wobbling. The Archdemon goes flying, bringing down the fortress on the far end with the sheer force of the magic. It feels as if all the air in my lungs has been pushed as the flagstones fall away; Lyla and her small group desperately sprinting, but lose their footing. An electric bolt from the dragon strikes Lyla down, as she scrambles to get to her feet, but the heavy stonework pulls her down, and soon the others follow. I cry out with horror as I watch them fall.

An empty silence. She's gone. Maker's breath, _no_ , she can't be. Not again.

I gather my wits as quick as possible, lingering by the doorway. The once top-part of the fortress has fallen away, but the rest of Adamant appears sturdy enough. I turn to those around me. "Search for survivors, now!" I order, chest heaving. I curse everything, everyone under my breath and storm back through the fortress, cutting down the odd demon there as if in a dream. I step over fallen comrades and Wardens, not even glancing at their open eyes, their pained expressions. For the first time in my life, I wish I were one of them.

Lyla can't be gone… just can't be. I have a twinge of hope that she survived the fall, along with Alistair, Hawke and the others. But I'm deflated, that hope being diminished by every moment. It's as I pass my troops that Cassandra runs up to me but her words are empty. I know she's speaking quickly, demanding a report but I just look at her without really seeing. I think of Lyla and I can't get that pained expression of when she was hit before she fell out of my mind. I saw panic in her eyes, I saw her fingers scramble desperately at the falling flagstones.

Cassandra slaps me.

"Commander! Pull yourself together!" she shouts. I blink at her.

"Lyla…The Inquisitor fell." My voice sounds hollow, it doesn't sound like me.

"Wh-what?" Cassandra stammers, her eyes widening.

I regain composure. "The Inquisitor fell on the other side of the fortress. I've got scouts searching for survivors."

I walk briskly, Cassandra at my side as we make our way around the outside of the fort. There are already scouts present when we arrive, their faces pale, none of them willing to meet my eyes. I approach a lieutenant who salutes.

"Commander - we've, ah, got a strange situation here," she says.

"Are there survivors," I cut across.

"Yes ser - the Tevinter Erimond has been captured. He's barely conscious but is restrained by some of the mages."

I push past the lieutenant and stride towards a small gathering of mages. They part to let me pass and I look down at the small, smarmy man who's only got a small cut on his temple. I draw my sword and point it at his neck, my arm shaking. I burn with embarrassment at my quivering hand, but do not pull back.

"What happened." I command, my voice low.

Erimond chuckles, blood spitting out his mouth. "She fell. My master will have a fine reward for me indeed."

I press the tip of my sword into his throat, a small trickle of blood escapes. Erimond whimpers, tears in the corners of his pathetic eyes.

"Commander," a scout says. "There are no bodies or other survivors at the bottom of the chasm."

I glance at the scout who salutes. "Then where are they?" I demand of Erimond.

He laughs again, but it's a snivelling little snort that repulses me. "She fell into the Fade, to be lost forever. The Elder One will triumph with her demise! All will worship our new god!"

"Gag him," I say to the mages who oblige. I sheath my sword, Cassandra watching me with concern I cannot bear. How is he spared when Lyla and the others are gone?

"What do you think he meant?" Cassandra asks, arms folded. "How could the Inquisitor fall into the Fade?"

Feeling helpless, I turn to the scout. "Are there any other witness-?"

"Curly!" Varric shouts from behind us. His crossbow is in his hands, splattered with blood and Sera runs with him, tears streaming down her face.

"She fell! No, no _no_ she can't do that! Fuck!" Sera is saying.

"Did you see what happened?" I demand when they halt before me.

Varric nods. "We saw the whole thing from our position. The dragon fell first, and the path crumbled. The Inquisitor and Hawke fell after but I think Lyla opened a breach with the anchor - she fell through that."

"She's fallen into the Fade," Dorian says, running up behind Varric and Sera. "Lyla saw a tear in the veil and opened it with the mark - I'm pretty sure they are all now, physically, in the Fade."

"Then they are lost," Cassandra says, deflated, hands on her hips, looking at her boots in the sand.

My mind tries to wrap around the situation, my narrow-minded view of magic unable to comprehend what's happened. all at once, I want to be away from here, as far away as possible but I remember that once again, even if Lyla has gone it cannot be in vein.

"There are still demons in Adamant," I remind them all quietly. "The battle is not yet over."

"But-" Dorian begins.

I hold my hand up to silence him. "We _must_ continue. It's what she would want. Do not tell the rest of the troops about… about what's happened here, not yet. We need to continue the momentum to control and win the battle."

They all nod in agreement and separate into units. "And the prisoner?" one of the mages asks.

"Ensure he is bound and gagged. We'll take him back to Skyhold for questioning."

They move out, all marching back to the bulk of the army and the crumbling fortress. I think I'm alone and let out a shaking sigh, clenching my fists so tight they become numb.

"She wouldn't want this," Sera sniffs suddenly beside me, tears streaming. She glares up at me through her bangs. "How can you continue fighting knowing that she's lost! I thought you loved her!"

"Sera," I say quietly, my voice breaking. She pauses in her huffing and tilts her head to the side.

"Oh," she gulps. "It's all a mask, innit? This Commander stuff."

I nod and look to the chasm. "Lyla came out of the Fade once before - perhaps she will do so again."

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading, reviewing and following! Next update in 2 weeks. :)**_


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

* * *

The fighting begins to slow, as the remaining Wardens fight alongside the Inquisition forces. It's all a blur as I fight with them, thinking purely of survival of my troops, of defeating the demons, of knowing when to save a life, rather than take one. Never before has fighting fatigued me so.

There are near misses, and I take a knock to the head from one demon and am thrown to the floor by the staff of a Warden mage. I'm not used to this; to feeling so weak, useless and barely human. I get to my feet quickly, ignoring the throbbing sound of lyrium as it sings with the ex-Templars. I shrug off the concerns from my comrades, and instead order them to worry about their own lives, rather than mine. I am slipping, and the thought is terrifying me. But I continue, relentless in my conviction that by cutting down as many demons as possible, perhaps she will come back, as she did before. But when a huge pride demon sends electric magic through me, realising my absolute need for lyrium, I collapse.

* * *

Cassandra wakes me. I'm lying in one of the healer's tents at the forward camp. She stands with her arms crossed, blood spattered on her face and in her hair, her skin is white as a sheet. I try to sit up on the narrow cot, my head heavy as if suffering from a hangover. I'm in my armor still, so swing my legs out.

"Cullen-" Cassandra begins, but I hold out my hand.

"Don't."

She nods and clenches her jaw. I know she wants to say more, but I cannot let this continue.

"When we're back from Adamant, you must search for a replacement."

Her mouth opens dramatically. "You cannot be serious."

"Oh, I'm serious," I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

"But why?"

"Because I'm _weak_ without it, don't you see? I would never have fallen otherwise," I hiss through gritted teeth. The headache has returned and the tent spins before my eyes momentarily.

"So you're just going to give up? Is that what Lyla would want?"

I still and look up at the Seeker. "Don't." I repeat, voice low, a quiet warning.

"No, I _will_ , Cullen. If you don't listen to me, then listen to her."

"I've failed her! She is lost in the Fade…"

"No… no she's not."

A pause. I blink several times. "…What did you say?"

"She's in the main tent and-"

But I don't hear. I'm on my feet faster than my legs want to carry me. My bones ache, I can feel sweat stuck to my forehead, my neck, my torso… but I'm forgetting everything just at the thought of her being here. Returning. I mutter a thousand prayers under my breath as I wind my way through the forward camp, noting dimly that the soldiers are singing and dancing around fires, sharing stories and helping one-another with injuries. Most move out of the way as I pass, and I'm grateful for little hindrance in my haste.

I push open the flap of the largest tent in the camp and pause. I'm aware that others are here, talking in low voices with her - mainly those of her Inner Circle - but I do not care. When she turns to look at me, her eyes are red, her face is white but, despite everything, she smiles. In two large strides I stand in front of her, not caring about those around us. They're going to find out anyway, I think to myself, as I boldly take her face in my hands and kiss her on the lips. It light, it's sweet, but turns urgent as we both realise that things got too close again.

Any other time I would've scolded myself for the obvious display of affection and lack of professionalism, but all I can think about and all I care about is that she's _alive_ and the closest thing to anything stable in my life.

When we part, her chest is heaving, tears welling in the corner of her eyes. I thumb them away tenderly and she chews her lip, blinking away the tears.

"We'll, ah, return in a bit, Inquisitor," Blackwall says from the side.

I barely hear and notice when all who were in the tent shuffle out around us. I ignore their sideways glances, their bittersweet smiles and their quiet whispers. Now we're alone and I relax. My headache hums in the distance, but when I look down at her, and trace those delicate markings on her cheeks, it halts. Instead I can feel her magic whisper and dance around me. It's her own unique magic I'm starting to recognise and it's so soothing. I take her hands in mine.

"I thought… I thought you had…" I begin, but I cannot finish.

"I know," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "It was close."

"They said you fell…?"

She nods and clears her throat. "I did. _We_ did. I was in the Fade - physically. It was a-a nightmare," she rasps, not looking at me. "We almost didn't make it, but H-Hawke… Hawke…" she breaks down now, wrapping her arms tight around herself.

It's so unlike her, to show this side. The woman who's always so strong, so clear-minded, sometimes making the toughest decisions with icy convictions as cold as her magic. But now her tears fall freely, and I just wish I could take this all away from her. The mark, the responsibility, the pain - everything. But that is wishful thinking. We may have won the battle, but lost a Champion.

I ask no more questions and just take her in my arms and hold her. She cries into my fur shrug and all I can do is hold her, whisper reassurances in her ears, but I feel useless. I am not worthy to see her like this. She needs someone stronger, more in control who can be her rock. I am ashamed that she knows very little about my inner struggle… and I should not burden her with it either.

Don't get me wrong: I _want_ to be here for her, to never let her go; but if I cannot look after myself, how can I even dream of being able to look after her, when she's in need? I know that if I mention anything of the like to her she would roll her eyes at the notion of 'being looked after' and yet it's only natural to want to cling to something when grief rattles us. But she should cling to something stronger, and not to me. For I am breaking; the need for lyrium stronger than ever before. If I had lyrium I would be stronger. If I had lyrium perhaps I could've prevented this. _If I had lyrium I would be better_.

Our time together in the tent is all too brief. We're interrupted for urgent meetings and announcements as preparations are made to leave Adamant and the Western Approach at once. None of the Inner Circle who saw us before dare mention a word as I shoot them glances across the tent, Lyla doing the same. There will be time for that later. I can't help but wonder, if I had lyrium, if I would've been bolder with my actions with Lyla. Would it have given me the resolve to act sooner, confess sooner?

I shake my head as Lyla details the itinerary back to Skyhold. I barely listen, thinking that even with lyrium, back when I was still a young Templar, it made my nerves worse, not better. I think to how I used to be around the Hero of Ferelden when she was a Circle apprentice. No, if I was still on lyrium, I would've become obsessed with my work, perhaps not even acknowledged her potential feelings for me.

 _Her feelings for me_. I turn away, pretend to look at some notes on a sideboard. How can she have feelings for me, when I'm like this? When I am so broken, and clearly wallowing in self pity? Yes, I've been through a lot, but compared to everything she's been through over the last few months? How can I be so _selfish_? I tighten my grip on the hilt of my sword to steady my hands. I am in no fit state to be here, surrounded by these brilliant minds.

"… red templars."

I look up sharply, trying to grasp the discussion. Have I really not been paying attention for that long?

"I'll come with you, Silver," Varric says quietly. "Taking out red templars sounds like a fine way to distract myself from all this shit."

Lyla nods and I glance around the tent trying to find out what I've missed. Maker's breath, if this doesn't show how unsuitable I am for this position, then I don't know what does.

"So, Varric and I will head to Sahrnia with Dorian and Bull. Everyone else will stay with the troops back to Skyhold. Hopefully, all being well, we will meet you there around the same time." Lyla tugs her hair behind her ears before continuing. "We will set off in the morning. Scout Harding - leave within the hour: travel fast and reconvene with the forward scouts and survey the area. We'll be less than a day behind you."

"Of course, your Worship," the dwarven woman salutes and exits the tent. One by one, Lyla hands out orders, writes letters and passes them around.

I sign order after order, not thinking, only wanting to sleep and to perhaps look at my secret box of lyrium at the bottom of my trunk. But that need fades as I immerse myself in the work and focus back on the task at hand. I crush that worry in my gut of her heading off to Emprise du Lion, and instead pull my Commander mask on tighter than I have in a long time. No lapse in protocol, no prolonged glances - now I am back to being professional, of being in control.

It's sunrise but the time the last of the paperwork is complete and the final crows and ravens depart. Lyla packs her gear around the tent - I can hardly bear to look at her. And yet just a few hours ago I had thought she were dead again. It's so strange and incomprehensible, sometimes I have to shake my head to stay awake, but at the same time it does feel like I'm walking the Fade myself.

Cassandra's talking heatedly with Dorian and Iron bull. Varric sits alone by the entrance of the tent. I walk over to Lyla, pretending to read a report in my hand.

"I can send a small escort…?" I suggest as she packs her supplies.

She smiles faintly. "Thank you, but no."

"Just for your safety," I say.

"You know we'll move quicker, the smaller the group," she says quietly.

I nod in reply but don't say anything. I know she's right, and that makes it worse, I think.

A cool hand touches my cheek. It's light and surprisingly soft.

"I'll meet you back at Skyhold, ok?" she says softly, so quiet I can barely hear. I glance over her shoulder to where Dorian, Iron Bull and Cassandra stand. Dorian's eyes flick to mine and he says something flippant to keep Cassandra's attention on him. I must remember to thank him in the future.

"Are you sure it's wise to go out on a mission right away?" I finally say, unable to meet her gaze.

"Sure?" she repeats. "No, not really. But after what we went through in the Fade… I need to get Varric back," she nods her head in his general direction. Varric sits holding his crossbow, staring at the sand on the floor, not seeing anything. I know her meaning and still…

"But what about you?" I counter. I think of how hours before she had sobbed in my arms, but now her cool resolve is back. If I hadn't been there, then I would never have known.

"I'll be fine," she says firmly. "You've read the reports coming out of Emprise du Lion - if I find and stop the red lyrium supply we suspect is there, we can stop Samson." I open my mouth to object, but it's no use - she places a cool finger on my lips. "You know it makes sense that I travel there on the way back to Skyhold."

I do, but all too soon she's riding out of camp, dust billowing behind her. I watch her leave as the troops pack up and begin to move out for the long march back to the Frostback Mountains.

* * *

I read my letter once more before tearing it up and scattering it to the wind.

 _Mia,_

 _I'm lapsing. I know I am. It's harder than I ever thought it would be and sometimes I even think it's worse. It's relentless. My hands shake holding my reigns. I find myself bathed in sweat in the cold desert nights._

 _I can't stand to see her disappointment._

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading! Update in 2 weeks. Your reviews keep me going! ^^**_


	21. Chapter 21

We're halfway back across Orlais when Cassandra finally pulls her horse alongside mine. The weeks have passed like blur as I forget everything. I wake after restless nights, mount my horse and order the troops onwards. That's been my routine. I think I like routine. If I can keep it up, this same and familiar routine of movements, it won't be much longer until we're back at Skyhold. We ride in companionable silence for a few miles before she gives up her waiting game.

"You want to talk about it?" she asks in her blunt voice.

I glance at her, urging my horse onwards. "No."

She sighs through her nose and even though I'm not looking, I know she's rolling her eyes. "I'm not getting a replacement."

"Then why bother?" I demand.

"You need to stop belittling yourself, Cullen."

"And you presume too much, Cassandra," I counter, and dig my heels in, the horse galloping ahead.

The Seeker chases me until I relent, my arms and legs weak from the travel and the withdrawal. I am not fit enough for this. But when she slows to a trot beside me she remains silent, and we continue in stony silence along the roads. All that can be heard is the soft sound of hour horses' hooves on the paths, an occasional bird singing in the trees and the low hum of a moving army behind us. We only speak on the weather, the terrain and logistics of making camp just off the road. With much effort, I dismount, hiding the pain in my joints with a firm grimace. It's not lost on Cassandra, who huffs under her breath, but daren't say a word. Camp is erected swiftly and the rest of the Inner Circle who didn't travel with the Inquisitor arrive and help out - the army setting up camp behind us.

When Cassandra finally speaks an hour or so later, it's a topic I did not expect.

"So…you and the Inquisitor…?" she asks, eyebrow cocked.

I sit by the campfire, idly cleaning my blade to keep my hands busy. "Yes…" I'm starting to think that the other topic would be easier to talk about than this.

Cassandra hums thoughtfully as she chews on a mouthful of salted meat. "Well it's about time. Dorian and Varric have been taking bets for months now."

"Months?" I repeat, momentarily distracted.

She chuckles and the mood lightens. Perhaps she's taken the hint to drop the earlier topic. "I'm pleased for you Cullen - and for her. I'm just annoyed neither of you saw fit to tell me!"

"It's really not anyone's business," I say.

There's a cackle from behind us. "Oooh yeah, 'cause snoggin' on the battlements is _reeeeeeally_ subtle."

Sera saunters over, eating an apple off a small knife.

"Really? On the battlements?" Cassandra says, eyes wide. "How romantic," she sighs.

"Mmm hmm," Sera nods gleefully. "Oh! I remember Varric tellin' me you love this sorta shit. _Well_ , rumour has it-"

"Maker's breath!" I exclaim, my face burning. I rise and retreat to my tent, sheathing my sword. One look over my shoulder and I see Sera and Cassandra lean in close to one other - Sera no doubt exaggerating the already flippant gossip that's spreading through the barracks. And to my dismay, Cassandra is hanging on to her every word. Maker's breath indeed.

I pull the tent flap down firmly and take my armour off - exhaustion setting in. Perhaps tonight I will be able to sleep better. The gallop to the camp with Cassandra has made me feel weak and lethargic. Maybe exhausting myself is the best way I can get sleep when the withdrawals are this bad? When my need for lyrium and being surrounded by it is torture? As I lie on the bedroll, sleep does come surprisingly quickly. But it's not dreamless.

* * *

 _Once again, I stand in that familiar Harrowing Chamber, expecting at any moment to see either the Hero of Ferelden or the Inquisitor die in front of me. But I am alone, forgotten in solitude and it's more terrifying than before, knowing I am lost and alone. I spin on the spot, my vision blurred in the Fade, as the edges of the chamber begin to diminish. Darkness envelopes me, and I open my mouth to scream, hoping to wake up, but I do not. No sound comes out, even though my lungs exhale with a scream, my neck tight and painful._

" _Cullen_ …?"

 _There's a whisper, so small and subtle in the Fade, I believe it a trick. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, not wanting to suffer this darkness, and dreading what I'll see if I open my eyes. The voice is light, clear and cuts through the darkness. Oh, I am tempted to look, I know I am, but it be a demon._

 _My silent screams halt when there's a refreshingly cold touch on my cheek. I gasp, peeling my eyes open to be blinded by the stunning white light before me. I blink several times, finding the touch on my face familiar and, oh, how I want to fall and let it take me - but with ever fibre of my strength I still resist. This could be a demon, close to wrapping its claws around me. It's only when the light before me says my name once more, do I see the strange ethereal being change form, mimicking the lithe and slender features of the Inquisitor._

 _I close my eyes again, feeling tears sting the corners. "Please, not again," I gasp._

 _But the hand on my cheek stays, a soft and gentle thumb tracing my cheekbone fondly. "Cullen, it's me," the voice says, and it's unmistakably Lyla's._

 _"It can't be," I say through gritted teeth, terrified my resolve will break. This is the hardest temptation yet._

 _"Open your eyes," her voice hums gently. I find my breathing slow, my panic receding. "Open your eyes and see where we are," she says._

 _And I do. Maker help me, I do._

 _Lyla stands before me, concern etched on her pretty face but this does not seem like the Fade. Indeed, it appears as if we are at Skyhold, on the battlements where we first kissed. I look about me, the little details starting to form around us, including the cracks in the walls, the ivy weaving through the stonework and when I look down I see Lyla's delicate vallaslin trace her cheeks with stunning clarity. She's so close, I can smell strawberries - it all seems so real._

 _"It's really me, Cullen," she smiles, tears in her eyes too. "Well sort of…" Something caught between a smile and a sob makes me hesitate. I gingerly wipe a tear away as it falls, now past the point in caring if this is a demon ready to ensnare me. I feel no pain, only a light chest as I look down at her, her cool hand still cupping my cheek, just like she did before she left for Emprise du Lion._

 _"How…" I begin._

 _Lyla smiles, a smile so bright I'm almost blinded again. "I've been learning to manipulate the Fade. I'm sorry to intrude on your dreams."_

 _I choke back a chuckle. "Don't be sorry. My dreams are never this… this real," I say, struggling for words. I look around us again, but we are alone on the battlements. If it weren't for the fact that there was no noise and no sound of a busy keep, I would think this entirely real. "Is it really you?"_

 _"Sort of. You're asleep and dreaming and I am too - through my manipulation of the Fade, I've managed to find you in your dreams," she explains patiently. "I thought I would choose a place that's familiar to both of us."_

 _I nod wearily. "Forgive my hesitancy, but I still cannot believe you."_

 _She entwines her cool hands with my own. "Are you're dreams always so dark?"_

 _"Yes," I reply. "Without lyrium they are worse. But this… this is better," I sigh, relaxing. There's no throbbing in my head, no ache in my joints, only a longing for her._

 _As if reading my thoughts Lyla takes a step closer. "I miss you."_

 _Our lips brush and a lump catches in my throat. I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in, relishing this moment. But a distant voice whispering Lyla's name distracts us both. It's persistent and familiar._

 _"I have to go," she says quietly. "Dorian is trying to wake me up, I think."_

 _"Please," I begin, but she's slipping._

 _"You should wake up too," she says, stepping back._

 _"I don't want to," I admit, reaching out to take her hands, but she pulls away reluctantly._

 _"I'll meet you back at Skyhold," Lyla affirms before disappearing. The battlements start to evaporate around me and I leave the Fade._

* * *

As I wake, I'm aware that it's almost natural. I open my eyes, staring at the canvas above me, my headache is present but bearable. The dream is still clear in my mind and my chest feels lighter. For the first time in a long while, I feel rested and not drenched in night sweats. As I dress and don my armour, the dream is all that's on my mind - it had seemed so real. I've got a stupid smile on my face and to be honest, even if Lyla didn't actually visit me in the Fade, that dream was the best I've had for years.

My smile fades when I step out of the tent in the early morning sunrise to see Solas sat cross-legged by the dwindling campfire. He doesn't even look up when he says; "Good dream?"

What the…?I look down at him, shifting my weight between my feet. "Excuse me…?"

He flicks his eyes up at me then back to the glowing fire. "The Inquisitor needs to learn to control her dreams," he says. "She's projecting so much that every mage within the vicinity will have seen your dream."

"I thought you had been teaching her," I say thickly, ignoring the pit opening in my gut. So it _had_ been real.

"You could say that," Solas replies with a bitter laugh. "Tell me, Commander, does she know that you pray to your lyrium box everyday, wanting to be put back on that leash?"

I grip the hilt of my sword, anger making my hands shake. I open my mouth to reply but Sera stands at my elbow, toying with her bow, giving Solas a hard look.

"That's none of your friggin' business," she sneers.

The apostate mage slowly gets to his feet and backs out of the camp with a faint smile on his face, making my anger flare again.

"Thanks," I mutter to Sera.

"Anytime," she nods. And I think this is the start of a strange arrangement between us. I'm beginning to see why Lyla is counting this curious elf as one of her closest friends. Although why Solas remains part of the Inquisition is something I am far from understanding.

* * *

The final part of the journey back to Skyhold is partially uneventful. I remember my dream with Lyla with fondness, even though Lady Vivienne approaches me and gives me a lecture about private dreams and the like. But she's sincere in her concern, hoping that the enemy do not find out how close the Inquisitor and Commander are becoming. I flush at her words, which earns me an affectionate (I think?) pat on my arm. Her words ring in my ears, and even though I'm desperate for Lyla to visit me in the Fade again, I try not to sleep, unless riding on my horse during the day. Sleeping in the saddle is a skill I've come to acquire quite naturally, and one I'm not taking for granted.

But it's not proper sleep, not really. And by the time we arrive in the Frostback mountains, less than a day away from Skyhold, I'm more exhausted than I've ever been. The journey has been tough for me, my lyrium withdrawal constantly on my mind. I took steps to avoid Solas as much as possible, and it seems he's done the same. His hostility towards me is something I'm going to have to puzzle out another time, but for now I can't let that distract me. I focus all of my energy of completing the journey in one piece and of seeing Lyla back at Skyhold.

Only that she is not here.

I stride up to the main keep, taking two steps at a time upon arrival and bustle my way to the War Room, ignoring the clicking of tongues from nobles in the main hall. I push the doors open to see Leliana and Josephine in a deep discussion which is immediately halted with my presence.

"The Inquisitor has not returned," I say. It's not a question.

The ladies exchange a glance before Leliana slides a missive across the table. I snatch it up instantly.

 _Advisors_ , it reads:

 _Emprise du Lion is in a dire state: we need more troops here to help with the relief effort. This place is colder than Skyhold._

 _Successfully raided Sarhnia Quarry and found evidence of Samson's plans: copies of which I've enclosed. However, local residents were being used to mine raw red lyrium with many going mad. Rescue efforts are in place, but we need more support._

 _On the morrow, with the help of Michel de Chalons, we will assault Suledin Keep and end the Red Templar threat on Emprise once and for all._

 _We will most likely be delayed by a few weeks but will return as soon as matters here are settled._

 _Inquisitor Lyla Lavellen, Herald of Andraste_

I look up. "We must send aid," I say immediately.

"I dispatched my forward scouts ahead this morning but I fear we may be too late to assist," Leliana spreads her hands. "It seems this messenger bird was intercepted and delayed in reaching us."

I feel numb. "Then we are too late, and they could've… could be…dea-"

" _If_ the assault has failed, we would've had word by now," Leliana explains calmly. "And my spies have reported no such thing."

Josephine scribbles a note on a piece of parchment. "And I've written to local nobility and urged their assistance, following our success at Adamant."

"So what, we wait? See what happens? You can't be serious!" I slam my fist on the war table, making some of the strategically placed pieces fall over. Josephine jumps back at my outburst whilst Leliana watches me, her expression totally unreadable.

"I suggest you take rest this evening, Commander," Leliana says. "One way or another, we shall know in the next day or so."

I swear under my breath before picking up a stack of reports on the table. "I'll be in my office - make sure I'm not disturbed," I sigh wearily, sweeping out of the room, the papers shaking in my hands, my legs weak.

I'm not sure how, but I do make it back to my office before I stumble and fall on the floor. I lie with my cheek pressed to the flagstones, papers splayed out before me and I do not move. Maker knows I can't do this anymore. I don't know how long I lie here, barely comfortable, barely able to breath with my weight pressing on my chest piece against the floor. But, graciously, no troops enter my office. I mentally thank Leliana for that small blessing.

It's dark when there's a hammering at the door behind me. I grunt and try to rise, rubbing m head. Over the last few hours, my mind had been blank and that's almost as scary as dreaming. I felt no emotion, no desire, no nothing. Just emptiness and, sometimes, that low and terrible song.

The door behind me bursts open as I get to my knees, feeling sweat trickle down my back.

"Maker's balls," Blackwall's voice says, approaching my side.

"Give me a hand, will you?" Cassandra says and both warriors take an arm and help me to my feet.

"Reports…" I mumble, looking at the mess all over the stone floor.

"Later, later," Cassandra soothes. "You need to get some rest. Think you can get up the ladder?"

I nod dumbly and they help me up. I thank them wearily before collapsing on my bed, letting the Fade envelope me.

* * *

The sunlight streams through the hole in the ceiling, blinking me awake. I ignore it for as long as possible, but it persists. Gingerly, I sit up in my bed, feeling lethargic and unwilling to leave.

"You test the chains but it hurts. Failure. Disappointment. Pain when you're awake and asleep." Cole's soft voice says from the corner of my room. The boy sits with his knees up to his chest, watching me with those empty grey eyes through the wispy strands of his hair. "She wants to help, but can't unless you tell her," he continues.

I run my hands through my hair before answering. "What are you doing here Cole?" my voice is scratchy, it hurts to talk.

"I want to help," he replies, unblinking. "I can make you forget, if you like."

It's tempted. Maker knows that forgetting would be the best way to get me back not he right path. But then I remember all of those terrible crimes I'm guilty for, of turning a blind eye to in Kirkwall. As much as I want to forget those images and be rid of the burden of guilt, the fact of the matter is that those who have been effected will never forget, so why should I?

"No, Cole. But… thank you."

"I want to help," he repeats, tilting his head to the side. "Will you tell her?"

I let out a long sigh. "Yes, I'll tell her."

"Good," he smiles. "She's fire and ice. Cold to the touch but warms your heart. She makes you feel safe and strong."

The boy disappears moments later as I mull on his words. It is rather unnerving to have the boy-spirit so close, but at the same time, it is clear that he's trying to help. Lyla trusts him, so I must do also.

I find my head pounding once I'm dressed and back in my armour. It takes a lot of effort to slide down my ladder and the first place I go is towards the smithy's. I ignore the training recruits, and they're sensible enough to give me a wide birth as I pass through. Of course, Cassandra is right where I expect her - slashing the start dummies in the training yard.

"A word?" I say, heading into the smithy, gripping the pommel of my sword to keep my hands from shaking. I hear her drop her sword to the ground before following me inside.

"Out: all of you," she orders to the workers standing idly. They don't need telling twice and skirt past us both, closing the door behind them with a thud. She then turns on me. "Glad to see you're up and about-"

I bristle. "How long was I out?

She shrugs. "A couple of days, perhaps."

"Days?" I repeat. "Is it not obvious I need to be replaced?" I demand, my voice rising.

"No, it's not!" she retorts, crossing her arms. "You asked for my opinion and I've given it. Why would you expect it to change? "

"I expect you to keep your word," I say without hesitation. "It's fucking relentless - I can't-"

She cuts across me. "You give yourself too little credit."

I glare at her, fidgeting, unable to keep still. I'm seething. "If I'm unable to keep what vows I kept then _nothing_ good has come of this… would you rather save face than admit-"

The door opens and the words turn to ash in my mouth. Lyla walks in, still in her travel leathers, hair windswept, but looking as elegant as ever. She's the light I'm towards but I do not deserve it: I do not deserve her. Maker, let me crawl into a hole now and end this mess - I cannot bring her down when the weight of the world already heavy on her shoulders.

With Cassandra's eyes on me I hesitate then walk past Lyla, resisting every urge to touch her, or take her in my arms. I am exhausted and can't bare to see her disappointment. "Forgive me," I say quietly before excusing myself, trying not to hobble as I leave.

"…and people say _I'm_ stubborn - this is ridiculous," I hear Cassandra say from behind.

I slam the door to the smithy and limp back to my rooms, knees giving way as soon as I sit behind my desk. With one hand I reach down to my desk draw, slide it open and pick up the lyrium box, holding it out before me. I turn it over in my hands, examining it and resisting every notion to open it. But the song wants to be heard and I want to hear it.

* * *

 _Sorry for the delay with this chapter but here it is! Thanks for reading and reviewing! 33_


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